Dare
by Cris
Summary: Rachel was promised it was all meant in innocent fun, until a single dare changes a school fundraising proposition into something else entirely.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Cough. Okay, this one needs some disclaimers._

_#1: This is a very belated birthday present for michemistic, who likes her some dark!Jesse, so here he is. If you don't care for that or you find it OOC (I'm kinda on the fence, myself), you've been warned._

_#2: Chris is the waiter from "Rhodes Less Traveled," the guy who has been held back for years at Carmel so he can stay in Vocal Adrenaline. I looked him up on IMDB, and he's wearing a nametag on screen. So, no, I did not write myself a cameo as a dude (lol!)_

_#3: The Model UN is a lovely organization that does good things, and I mean no disrespect to them at all._

_#4: This is a fairly common fundraising tactic on university campuses, though I haven't heard of it happening at the high school level (not saying it doesn't, but I imagine there are added complications with underage children and all that)._

_#5: This isn't posted as a chapter in "Inevitability" because it is not a "fix." It does riff off the Britney Spears episode, but it isn't a "fix" in my definition of the term, so that's the answer to that._

_#6: All standard disclaimers apply. I don't own them, I'm just going to hell for what I do when I borrow them._

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><p><strong>Dare<strong>

She'd told them no the first three times they asked.

And the fourth.

And the fifth.

The sixth hadn't been a request so much as absolute begging. One of the other girls had backed out, they pleaded, and they needed someone last-minute to take her place. Rachel immediately snapped that she understudied for _no__one_, but her fellow members of McKinley's Model UN team didn't see it that way. It wasn't understudying, they said. Technically it was replacing, but not really, since the event hadn't actually happened yet.

Rachel still wasn't so sure.

She'd been against this particular fundraising event from the start, saying that McKinley's branch of the Model UN shouldn't toy with something that sounded so dangerously like they were making light of human trafficking. It was all in fun, her fellow clubmembers told her. There was no _real_ danger to a slave auction where students volunteered to be bidded on by their classmates. They had rules, after all. The "purchase" consisted of a few hours of the "slave's" time each day, and only lasted a week. Nothing violent, illegal, or sexual could be requested of the "slave," and participation was completely voluntary.

Still, Rachel didn't like it. She knew it was a fairly common technique for raising money without selling magazine subscriptions or candy or other stuff nobody really wanted. But both her fathers' people were slaves once, and she disliked the connotation, even in fun. So she'd refused to help with the planning of the event, telling the other members of the Model UN that they'd have to do this without their star organizer.

It wasn't until after she'd started wearing Britney Spears-inspired outfits to school that they even asked her if she would consider being one of the volunteers.

And it wasn't until after Finn rejoined the football team, effectively ignoring her ultimatum, that she said yes.

Now Rachel stood backstage with the rest of the volunteers, wringing her hands and wishing she hadn't let her anger and jealousy at Finn goad her into doing this. She didn't _want_ to be here. It was against everything she believed in, she told herself. Besides, she wasn't popular. It wasn't like they were going to get much for her. Likely nobody but Jacob ben Israel would bid on her, and she'd be humiliated in front of the entire school.

Yet again.

Most of the other volunteers were cheerleaders or football players hoping to get some nookie out of this arrangement despite the prohibition. Puck and Santana were here, and Brittany. Quinn had flat-out refused, saying that buying and selling people was anti-Christian. Rachel's irritated comment that that hadn't been the case in the 1800's in America earned her a withering glare, but she was in no mood to deliver a real historical treatise. Not when she essentially agreed with Quinn's position, no matter how historically inaccurate the blond girl's motives were.

"Easy, Rach," Puck said now, squeezing her shoulders from behind. "You look like...I don't even know what."

She made a face at the football player who was alternately sweet and awful to her; it wasn't always clear day-to-day which it would be. "I don't know why I let them talk me into taking that girl's place. It's not like they'll get that much for me," she muttered.

Oh, god, what if they got nothing? What if Jacob for some reason wasn't here—not that he _ever_ missed an event he could report on—and she was left with no one willing to bid for her?

"Well, last week, sure," Puck said with a shrug. "_Last_ week, they would have begged you to stay away. But now—now it's like your hotness level went up by, like, a whole Britney."

Rachel looked down at the outfit she'd chosen for the night—it was more or less the same sort of thing she'd been wearing all week, variations on Britney Spears' sexy schoolgirl look. And sure, she'd been getting more attention in the hallways. It was also true that no one had dumped a slushie on her or slipped a nasty note into her locker since she started dressing differently. But that didn't equate to popularity; she wasn't stupid enough to believe that. Nor was she idiotic enough to think that a subtle shift in her clothing choices was enough to make this night salvageable. "I'm going to puke," she whispered, her stomach churning, as the announcer called for Brittany S. Pierce, the first volunteer, to come out on stage. There was a riot of cheering and wolf whistles as the announcer gave her name and age, and proceeded to rile up the audience with a litany of reasons why they'd want to bid on her. Most had to do with her generally-accepted hotness, as well as veiled references to her willingness to put out for just about anyone. Bidding started at $100 and quickly rose from there.

"Shit, if that's all you're upset about, just think of it as a performance," Puck said. "Here." He put his hands on her shoulders again and pulled her gray cardigan firmly down her arms.

"Noah!" she reprimanded, grabbing for the material.

"What?" He tugged again. "You worried about how you'll sell? Show some more skin and they'll be begging to spend money. It's like the golden rule."

"That's not the golden rule," Rachel said, picking nervously at the sleeve of her cardigan, unsure whether she should follow his advice. "Besides, this isn't supposed to be about sex."

"The hell it's not about sex," Puck snickered. "They just say that to make the teachers agree to let us do it. Don't kid yourself; this is _all_ about sex and there's nothing Principal Figgins can do about that. He's not even really trying."

"Sue won't let anyone sell her Cheerios for sex!" Of that, Rachel was completely sure. She could just imagine their tall, intimidating coach yelling that _this__will__not__stand_.

"I didn't say they were being sold for sex," Puck said. "I said the auction was all _about_ sex. Totally different concept."

"I don't believe you."

"Then why did you agree to it?"

Rachel opened her mouth to answer, and found that she couldn't. She didn't have a good reason. She'd done it because one of her clubs was in a pinch and they needed her. She'd done it because she almost always volunteered for just about anything if it got her name mentioned. But mostly—and this was the hard part to admit—she'd done it because she was flattered to be asked. Because in that moment it had felt like they wanted her, like they thought she could do something good. It was a heady feeling, and she hadn't been able to resist.

But now that the night was here, she really had no idea what she had been thinking.

"I can't do this," she muttered.

"Rachel Berry backing down from a performance?" Puck scoffed. "Say it ain't so! I think hell just froze over."

And in that minute, the familiar mocking from Puck steadied her. He was right, after all. She never backed down from a performance and it was ridiculous to think that she'd start now. No, she wasn't backing down. She was going to do this. No matter the humiliation, running away would be far worse.

"No sweater?" she asked a little hesitantly.

"No sweater," Puck agreed. "The rest of it—smoking."

Puck wouldn't lie to her. Not about this. He had no problem telling her that she sucked, or that she looked weird. If he said she looked good, she had to trust that. Not because she trusted _him_, per se, but she trusted the rude, blatant honesty that came out of his mouth and in this moment that's all she needed. With shaky knees but stubborn tenacity, she took to the stage.

It was hard to see the audience, but then, Rachel was used to that. The spotlight temporarily blinded her, as it always did when she was on stage, but she distinctly heard the sound of several appreciative whistles and it steadied her confidence. So maybe she'd sort of let herself be coerced into this. She was going to own it anyway. Drawing her shoulders back slightly, reaching her full height and refusing to either look or feel anxious, Rachel waited.

"Maybe the fastest turnaround of _not_ to _hot_ in the history of McKinley, ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer crowed, and Rachel carefully schooled her expression to something she hoped was appropriately aloof—like a model on a runway. She didn't need the audience to see how much it affected her; how much she didn't like knowing that her entire popularity at this school rested on a simple shift in clothing. It wasn't even that the Britney look was all that different than her regular—it was just Rachel with the volume turned up.

"A last-minute addition to our roster," the announcer, a holier-than-thou senior who never let Rachel chair their Model UN meetings, said. "And boy, are we happy to have her. We'll start the bidding on this Brunette Britney at $100."

One hundred dollars was the starting price for all of the "slaves," so it wasn't exactly unusual or anything. Rachel put a hand on her hip and tried to look nonchalant, as if she didn't really care what someone from her school might pay for the privilege of bossing her around for a week.

For several heartbeats, there was no noise. Her heart dropped into her feet. This was it, then. The final humiliation. Despite the wolf whistles earlier and Puck's assurance that she looked good, no one was willing to bid. She'd forever live in infamy as the girl who couldn't even make reserve.

But then two male voices called out almost simultaneously. "One hundred!" the first yelled, just slightly before the second.

"We have a hundred," the announcer said, pointing toward the side of the room where the first voice had sounded. "Care to bid him up, Down-Low-Too-Slow?"

"One fifty," the second voice said agreeably.

Rachel wasn't sure she was actually breathing. Her heart was racing wildly. She'd gotten a minimum bid, and a second. That was all she really needed to feel better about this. Even if nobody else said a single word, she could end the night with her head held high.

She didn't recognize either voice just from sound alone, but that didn't necessarily surprise her. As far as the boys she knew went, Puck was backstage, Mike was already attached, and she and Artie didn't get along well enough for her to even guess he'd spend money for her company. Kurt was...Kurt. Finn wasn't pleased with this whole auction idea and didn't have the kind of money to make a bid anyway, so he was going to have to deal with the fact that another guy was essentially going to buy his girlfriend tonight. They'd already spoken and he wasn't happy, but he wasn't the kind to tell her what she could and couldn't do.

Or, she'd thought so. Before this wardrobe change, anyway. Now things were different. He didn't like guys staring at her in the hallways, and he didn't like the little extra confidence boost that the attention gave her. He wanted her to stop wearing revealing clothes, and Rachel honestly wasn't sure she was ready to do that for him. The attention honestly felt pretty good. Besides, he wasn't ready to give up football for her, so why should she give up this for him?

"Two hundred!" a third voice called, pulling Rachel back into the present. She was a little miffed at Finn anyway, and the thought of making him jealous was actually more than slightly appealing.

Brittany had "sold" for six hundred, and Rachel was now hoping that maybe she'd get at least half of the cheerleader's price. That would be extremely gratifying. Especially after the terrible "Glist" debacle last year. This would feel like a redemption of sorts, even if she was fully aware that this sort of popularity was fleeting. Quinn had managed to hold on to the juice despite an unplanned pregnancy and a disastrous breakup with her quarterback boyfriend, but Rachel had no such illusions about her own chances.

"Four hundred!" a voice called out, effectively doubling the price. There were some startled murmurs from the crowd.

"Five hundred!"

Rachel grimaced. She'd know that obnoxious little whine anywhere. Jacob ben Israel had finally joined the party. He had plenty of money—or, at least, his parents did—so she didn't feel too upset by the thought of him wasting it. She hoped beyond hope that whoever the other guy was, he won. Anything was better than Jacob. Even Azimio or Karofsky, though she didn't hear either of their voices in the mix of people calling out bids.

But just as the thought crossed her mind, so did a wash of fear. Oh, god, what if one of them—or one of the other jocks; it didn't really matter who—was bidding just for the express purpose of making her life a living hell for the next week? Once he paid, he could basically do what he wanted as long as it wasn't against the rules—no violence, sex, or law-breaking. Anything else was fair game. He could make her dress in her nicest clothes, only to throw slushies at her all day long. He could tell her she had to walk around like that for the rest of the day, not changing or washing. He could—

"Six hundred!" the other voice called out.

And the bidding war was on. Jacob fought valiantly—Rachel didn't even want to know how many months' worth of allowance from his well-off parents he was risking—but she really couldn't believe it as the numbers began to climb higher and higher. When they cleared a thousand with no sign of stopping, the audience started cheering after each new bid. They were picking sides; Rachel could hear it, though she still could not see what was going on. Some were rooting for Jacob, and some were rooting for the voice she still couldn't place. Rachel herself honestly didn't know which to pick. Jacob was slimy and despicable, but he was also easily bullied. She could slap him if he said or did anything inappropriate. Scratch that, she thought, just catching herself before rolling her eyes on stage. _When_ he did something inappropriate, not _if_.

When the bids reached eighteen hundred dollars, Rachel was sure she was going to pass out. Jacob was still trying hard, but he had reduced his bids to fifty, then twenty-five dollars, while his competitor kept jumping by the hundreds. It was clear at this point who was going to win; Jacob didn't have a prayer. Whether he was still hoping to win by some fluke or just bidding his rival up out of spite, Rachel neither knew nor cared. Not only was she not going home in disgrace, but _four_ people had actually bid on her, and she had more than doubled Brittany's price. Since the guy who won Brittany was almost sure to get sexual favors out of it despite the prohibition, Rachel thought this was a pretty shocking development. Especially since her mystery bidder wasn't getting anything like that from her, no matter what the final price. She had a boyfriend. Sure, she was pissed at him right now, but that didn't mean she was going to _cheat_.

But when the final bid of twenty-two hundred dollars rang out, she literally thought she might faint on stage. She held her breath—along with the rest of the audience, she was sure—just waiting to hear Jacob's increasingly-desperate whine.

It didn't come.

"Going once..." the announcer said, to the sound of muted whispers in the audience.

"Going twice..." Rachel thought she might die.

"Sold!"

The audience exploded—cheers and whistles and violent stomping ensued, and Rachel almost numbly followed the announcer's direction as she walked carefully down the stairs of the stage to the little table on the side where winners left their money and claimed their prize.

Brittany was already there with the vaguely-recognizable football player who had won her. Rachel had been too nervous to really pay attention to Brittany's auction, but she thought she might have heard Artie bidding on the cheerleader.

Puck was next on stage, and the crowd ate up his mugging like no tomorrow. Rachel tried to tune out the raucous cheers and catcalls as she waited impatiently for her mystery bidder to appear out of the crowd.

"So Berry the slushie-target has suddenly become popular," the football player with Brittany sneered. "If I hadn't used all my money already, I would have bid on you _just_ so I could throw them at you all day. It would be a completely different kind of rainbow party."

Rachel felt a quiver in her belly. Yes, that's what she'd been afraid of. God, what if her mystery bidder felt the same way? What if she'd been permitted this glimpse at popular success only to be later humiliated?

"Hey."

She turned hastily, eying the guy who pushed his way out of the crowd and up to the table. He was...nondescript. A little on the short side, though she certainly wasn't one to talk. He had a broadly-appealing face, neither handsome nor ugly, and a cheerful look to him. She didn't know him from Adam, but she felt her shoulders relax ever so slightly. He didn't _look_ threatening.

"I'm the guy who, uh, won Rachel Berry?" he said, looking altogether more nervous than any guy who had just bid twenty-two hundred dollars on a girl had any right to be. His voice rose at the end of the sentence as if it was a question, and he eyed the attendant at the table almost sheepishly.

"What form will the payment be in?" the attendant—an overexcited freshman who probably had never seen that much money in one place before—asked. "And you need to sign a copy of the rules and regulations."

The guy pulled out fucking _Benjamins_, counting out a pile of crisp bills, and signed the rules without reading them. Rachel began to feel a small amount of...not panic, exactly, but...who did things like that?

Now that she thought about it, he did look maybe a little familiar. Just slightly. Something tugged at her memory—not a face in the hallway, like she would expect, but something else...

"I'm Chris, by the way," he said, turning to Rachel with an apologetic air. He took a breath to say something else, but a sudden roar from the crowd as Puck's final price was announced—nine hundred dollars—drowned him out. He flushed and glanced at the doors. "Can we talk somewhere a little more quiet?" he asked, his eyes almost begging her to say yes.

Rachel considered. She knew perfectly well what that sheet of rules said, and she was also going to slap this guy with an entirely different—and much longer—set of restrictions. Might as well get it over with now. They were at school after all. Plenty of people would be milling around in the hallway outside the auditorium; it was perfectly safe.

Nodding slowly, she stepped into the crowd, assuming he would follow. She felt eyes on her the entire time, not sure if they were Chris's or just members of the audience. If she were in the crowd, she had to admit, she'd be curious about the girl whose price tag was so much higher than anyone else's, and about the guy who was willing to pay it.

And that _really_ was a disturbing thing to say, even in her own mind. She, Rachel Berry, had willingly allowed someone to put a price on her head. Sure, it wasn't meant like _that_, but it unnerved her just the same. She was pretty sure her dads wouldn't be at all happy about this if they knew, even if it was for a good cause.

When they reached the hallway outside the auditorium, Rachel leaned against a wall and regarded Chris carefully. Out here, he looked just as non-threatening and awkward as he had inside.

"So..." he said, rubbing his hands together as if wiping away nervous sweat.

"Let's get one thing straight," Rachel snapped, folding her arms across her chest. "I realize you paid a lot of money for the privilege of bossing me around for a week, but that doesn't mean I'm going to listen to you. And—"

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, an amused smile flickering over his face. "Whoa, calm down there," he said with a pleasant chuckle. "I come in peace. Besides, I'm not the one you need to tell."

"What does that mean?" Rachel asked suspiciously. She narrowed her eyes. "And why don't you look all that familiar? This school isn't that big. I should know you at least by sight."

He looked startled. "I look familiar? Even just a little bit?"

"A little," Rachel admitted.

"That's...unexpected." He smiled again quickly. "You've only seen me once or twice in your life as far as I know."

"What does that mean?"

He paused, looking nervous again, before pushing on. "I don't go to this school. I go to Carmel."

Rachel froze.

Everything suddenly clicked into place.

Carmel. Vocal Adrenaline. Their rivals—their _enemies_. These people had absolutely destroyed her last year, thanks to Jesse and Shelby, and it had taken her dads and Finn the better part of the summer to soothe her ruffled feathers as she did a massive amount of self-help to fix what could be fixed and push away the bad feelings that would only lessen with time. Now those hated rivals were back again, and she didn't know why. Sectionals were still months away, Regionals even further. It made no sense for them to start funkifying New Directions now.

Unless they were going for total destruction this time—get them before they could have an Invitational, even. Crush them from the beginning until nothing was left.

"No," Rachel whispered, though there was strength behind the soft word. "No."

"Easy," Chris said. "Chill, okay? I'm not here to fuck anything up; I'm just following orders."

"Sure," Rachel snapped, taking a step back. "Like you were following orders when you _egged_ me in the parking lot? Like you were following orders when you trashed our choir room?"

"I wasn't there for the egging," Chris said, and she saw a flash of something very like fear in his eyes. She knew she could be quite impressive in a temper, and she hoped he was getting the full force of that right now. "I was sick that day."

"Great excuse." Rachel glared as hotly as she could. "So what's the brilliant plan now? Why pay all that money? I hope you know it's a lost cause. Whatever you think you could do to me, or coerce me into doing, you're wrong. I don't have to honor a contract with someone from Carmel."

The corner of Chris's mouth flickered ever so slightly. "He said you'd say that."

"Who?" Rachel snapped. "Goolsby? He's useless. He couldn't come up with a cunning plan unless it was somehow attached to his mirror, the narcissistic prick."

"No. Not Goolsby." Chris was trying to hide a smile and doing a very poor job of it. "Look, I didn't buy you, okay? Someone else did, he just wanted me to physically do it for him."

"Who?" Rachel demanded yet again. "I don't owe him _anything_."

"He said you'd say that, too." Chris handed her a piece of paper with a typed address on it. "He wants you to meet him here after school tomorrow. He says he's absolutely sure you don't give a shit about the money he just spent, or honoring the contract, so he knows you won't go just because of that."

"Then why?" Rachel felt anger welling up insider her. Who? Who could possibly know her well enough to have coached this guy in the exact things to say? "Why would I have any interest in meeting him?"

Chris merely smiled. "He says it's a dare."

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><p><em>AN: Yes, yes, this is just a setup chapter. Yes, there's more written. No, it won't be out this weekend. It's no fun unless you get to stew for a few days! Mwah! Happy birthday, michie!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Wow, thanks for the reviews, guys! We'll see what you think after this chapter. ;-) Caution: there's a scene with Rachel, Brittany, and Santana that some might find a little squicky, though it's not femslash. Jesse does show up in this chapter...kinda. _

_Oh, northstar clued me in to the fact that non-US people might not get the "Benjamins" reference in the first chapter. A "Benjamin" is a $100 bill, because there's a picture of Benjamin Franklin on it. _

_All standard disclaimers apply._

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><p><strong>Dare<strong>

Of course, once Rachel got home, she realized that the identity of her mystery bidder wasn't the only puzzle she had to unravel. There was also the problem of Finn. Finn, her boyfriend. Finn, the guy she'd chased after for a good portion of last year. She was pissed as all hell at him right now for rejoining the football team and trying to dictate her fashion decisions, but she still loved him. And that presented a dilemma.

What was she going to tell him about tonight? They had a total-honesty pact, after all—it was the one thing she'd insisted on when they got back together over the summer. Before she'd met Jesse St. James, the duplicitous bastard, she'd told Finn that she would always be honest with him, painfully so, and the only thing she asked was that he return the favor. Well, in this new, much more successful attempt at being a couple with Finn, she was determined to hold them _both_ to that prior standard.

Except, what was she going to do now?

He hadn't been happy about her involvement in this fundraising venture in the first place, and Rachel knew he wouldn't be happy about how it had turned out. The fact that she had been the most expensive purchase of the evening by far would surely get back to him even if she said nothing; it would be the talk of McKinley for a day or two until something new came along to catch the student body's collective attention. And once he knew that, including just how much another guy had spent on her, he would almost certainly demand to know who it had been and just what he wanted with her.

The explanation that her mystery bidder was some unknown person from Carmel, and she was supposed to go meet him tomorrow after school, definitely would not go over well. Finn would almost certainly forbid her to go through with it, and Rachel wasn't entirely sure what she would do then. Part of her wanted to agree with that assessment—it wasn't a good idea to play with fire, and that's what this felt like, walking into an unknown situation with McKinley's biggest rival. But another part of her, a pretty big part, balked at the idea of obeying an order, even from Finn, on principle's sake. She didn't need a guy bossing her around. She didn't want one either. Maybe other girls were fine in a relationship like that, but she wasn't. Her dads had raised her to think for herself, and that was going to cause some problems down the line if Finn kept up with this charade of being the boss of their relationship.

And then again, another part of her was keenly interested in the mystery before her. The unknown person from Carmel had _dared_ her to come meet him, almost exactly the same way Puck had dared her to go onstage tonight when she was nervous. They'd both known just how to play her to elicit the proper reaction, just what to say to rile her temper and her competitive streak to the point where she couldn't say no.

The question was, where did that leave her now? First, was she really going to go to that address tomorrow, and second, was she going to tell Finn? Breaking an honesty pact was serious business in her mind. Even if he never found out, _she_ would know.

Chewing absently on her bottom lip, Rachel opened her laptop and fished the paper with the address out of her sweater pocket. The letters and numbers were neatly typed on ordinary white printer paper—absolutely no clues there. Pulling up Google Maps, she typed in the address and studied the map and image that popped up.

It was a condo—a new five or six story building full of condos, to be exact—near the center of town. Rachel's frown deepened. That particular building was being marketed as a place for young professionals, attempting to be as hip and trendy as Lima ever got. It wasn't the sort of place where one would expect to find a parent or two with their teenager in tow. Rachel licked the swollen spot on her lip she'd been nibbling, scowling at the screen. This made no sense. There was no way she was just going to waltz into such a private place without knowing what she was walking into. That was monumentally stupid.

Unless...

She glanced at the clock. It was barely nine—her fathers were out for a late dinner, hosting one of Hiram's colleagues from out of town, and she doubted they'd be home for another couple of hours at least. Swiftly making up her mind, she jammed her feet back in her shoes, grabbed her bag, closed her laptop, and headed for the door. Tomorrow afternoon, her mystery bidder would be expecting her. He would have the upper hand in every way imaginable. Also, if she waited, she'd have to think of something to tell Finn, whether the truth or a lie.

But if she went now, when he wasn't expecting her, she'd have the element of surprise on her side. She could ascertain just who he was and what he wanted, and she'd be able to either tell him to shove it or formulate a plan to deal with the rest of the week. Once she did that, she'd know what to tell Finn. It seemed like the perfect all-around solution.

Not giving herself time to get nervous or talk herself out of it, Rachel slid into her car. Lima wasn't big, and she knew the building by sight. Smiling grimly, she pulled out of the driveway and headed toward the center of town.

Staring up at the brick and concrete structure, Rachel swallowed hard. This had seemed like a better idea earlier, when she wasn't actually facing the consequences. About half of the windows in the complex were lit with either the blue glow of a television or the warmer light of a lamp. Whether that meant the other units were vacant or the residents were just asleep, Rachel didn't know. Steadying herself with a deep breath, she stepped inside the lobby.

There was no desk or attendant, which she had halfway expected—not that this was a hotel, but she wasn't sure she'd ever been inside a condominium complex before. Along one wall was a matrix of locked mailboxes, and there were a couple of couches and potted plants, some unexceptional paintings on the walls, but nothing else.

The address on the typed sheet had directed her to room 413, and since the lobby was deserted, Rachel crossed it to inspect the corresponding mailbox. She tugged on the little latch to the door marked 413 and, to her surprise, it opened.

There was a single envelope inside the metal box, and it was addressed to her. Just her name, neatly typed across the paper—nothing more. She cast a worried glance around the room again, but it was still empty. Feeling an uneasy prickle along the back of her neck anyway, Rachel reached out and took the envelope. It was unsealed and addressed to her, so she steeled herself and carefully opened the flap.

Inside was a key, and a single typed sheet of paper.

_Dearest __Rachel_, it read, _if __you've __found __this, __that __means __I've __guessed __correctly __and __you __decided __to __come __see __me __before __our __appointed __time. __You __think __you're __smart, __and __you __are, __but __I'm __a __step __ahead __of __you __still. __By __all __means, __go __on __up __and __have __a __look __around. __I __assure __you __that __I'm __not __here, __nor __will __I __be __until __our __scheduled __meeting, __so __you're __quite __safe. __I __know __how __uncomfortable __you __can __be __in __an __unknown __situation, __so __consider __this __my __gift __to __you__—__you __may __poke __around __all __you __wish, __and __see __that __there __is __nothing __harmful __up __there. __Later __we __will __talk. __Until __then, __my __own._

_P.S. - Please keep the key._

The note was not signed.

Rachel stomped her foot, since nobody was there to see her, and pursed her lips. She was _not_ happy about this turn of events. Who in the world would know her so well—know that she'd come looking for him ahead of time, to try to gain the upper hand? The tone of his letter was almost mocking as he foretold exactly what she'd done.

And what was with the "dearest"? She wasn't anyone's _dearest_, not even Finn's. Finn called her nothing but Rachel, or the occasional Rach. No sweet names, no terms of endearment. She had to admit that she kind of would like to hear something like that once in a while, but not from some stranger she hadn't even met yet.

Part of her was tempted to shove the letter and key back in the mailbox and never come back here, but she had to admit that it wasn't a very big part. It wasn't wise, but she turned the key over in her hand slowly, testing its heft. It was silver and sharp, as if newly-cut. She played the tip against her palm as she thought. She _should_ just leave, and she knew that. Go home, and tomorrow tell Finn everything, the whole truth, leaving nothing out. Maybe bring him with her to her appointment tomorrow, so the mystery bidder would know he wasn't allowed to mess with her.

But even though she _knew_ that was the wisest course, Rachel found herself pacing slowly toward the elevator anyway, her eyes still trained on the key in her open palm as if it held all the answers if only she could read them correctly.

The elevator wasn't mirrored, which somehow made her feel a little more secure. The matte walls were cool and soothing as she pushed the button for the fourth floor and waited. This was it. Possibly the most monumentally stupid decision she'd ever made—and she was willing to admit that she'd made some horrific ones in her time. For all she knew, there could be a serial killer up there, just waiting for her.

But the lure of the unknown was too much to resist, and she stepped out of the elevator when the door opened. Normally Rachel did not consider herself a rule-breaker. She did what she was told, and even as a young child she'd hardly ever been in trouble. So this felt even more dangerous than perhaps it might otherwise, if she were a different sort of person.

But she couldn't help it. He'd _dared_ her. And who was Rachel Berry to walk away from a dare? It wasn't in her nature. He'd poked at her ego and awakened her competitive instinct to the point where she couldn't stop now even if she wanted to. Slotting the key in the lock for door 413, she took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit by a floor lamp in the far corner, by the slatted wood window treatments that looked almost like shutters. Lovely dark wooden floors gleamed richly, covered with a glossy shine, and the cream-colored furniture was understated and in the best of taste. There were no paintings on the walls, but there didn't need to be. Three were of warm burnt orange and one was a cool blue, contrasting wonderfully and seeming to fill the room with character without the addition of artwork.

Rachel inhaled deeply as she stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind her. The room smelled of Murphy's oil soap, and faintly of new paint. In a recently-constructed building, that wasn't terribly surprising. There was nothing else she could tell with her nose—no lingering odors of cooking food or incense, nothing to give any sort of hint as to the character of the person who had lured her here.

A breakfast bar separated the living room from a small but very modern kitchen, and Rachel looked at the stainless steel refrigerator and induction cooktop dispassionately. The note had said she could poke around, though, so with careful hands she reached for a drawer.

Before she made contact, her eyes spied something else—another envelope waiting on the counter. She reached for it without a second thought, though this one did not have her name on it.

_Help __yourself __to __whatever __you __please, __my __own_, it read. _What's __mine __is __yours_.

Upon inspection, the kitchen contained plenty of vegan-friendly options, including an overwhelming array of fresh fruit that Rachel knew full well wasn't in season. There was wine in the refrigerator and liquor in a cupboard, and Rachel wrinkled her nose at that.

Finding nothing terribly interesting or threatening in the kitchen, Rachel felt herself beginning to relax a little and actually thought she might be having a little bit of fun exploring someone else's house in spite of the circumstances. She moved to a hallway and peered into a room that had clearly been set up as a home office. There was a small computer desk with a fancy leather office chair, and a laptop—closed—sat on top of it. Rachel turned it on, but she couldn't log in without a password and none of the ones she tried seemed to work. One of the desk drawers was locked, and the other only held some printer paper and empty file folders.

In the corner sat a very nice keyboard, with headphones plugged in and resting on the bench seat. Upon lifting the bench, Rachel found a wealth of sheet music, of every and all genres. There was old-school pop and contemporary R&B, classic show tunes and even some classical piano pieces. Rachel frowned in concentration as she leafed through the collection. It was practically impossible to tell anything about this mystery man from a trove like this. He played piano and read music; that was all. Plenty of people played piano, and plenty more read music; it wasn't a distinguishing attribute by any stretch of the imagination.

As Rachel closed the lid of the compartment inside the bench, she noticed that the keyboard was turned on—the red power light was lit. Moreover, the light that heralded a recording was also lit. She eagerly slipped the heavy headphones onto her head and, after a moment of fiddling, figured out how to request playback of the recording.

The first few notes told Rachel in no uncertain terms what story she was now in, and the part she was meant to play. The keyboard had been set to approximate the sound of an organ, and the deep, immediate chords of the opening to the title song of Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera reverberated, loud and piercing, in her ears.

He played well, if the recording was anything to go by. He did not sing—whether he could attach a microphone and record his voice or not with this particular instrument, Rachel didn't know, but it hardly mattered. His point was crystal clear even without the lyrics. She was young ingenue Christine Daae, and he was her Phantom. What exactly that meant, she really couldn't say. There were too many ways to interpret this story and its ultimate ending. Did that mean Finn was meant to be her upstanding suitor, Raoul? That made little sense from Rachel's perspective—after all, the Phantom did not win in the end, and it was he who was crafting this story.

And while the intrigue was fascinating, she had to admit, the story was too fraught with danger for her to feel comfortable. "Phantom" was the tale of an innocent young girl seduced by a talented man who wanted to not only tutor but possess her. Eventually she gets away, with the help of her true love, but her life will never be the same. Rachel supremely did not want that—not from this chance charity purchase that was now looking more and more like it wasn't chance at all. She'd only agreed to this stupid fundraiser because they begged her—because they stroked her ego, and she couldn't say no. She had plenty of other reasons, yes, like a sense of duty and an unwillingness to let down people who said they needed her. But the feeling of actually being _wanted__—_of being sought out—was what had really pushed her over the edge, and she couldn't lie to herself about that.

She hadn't wanted it to turn into _this_, though. She'd thought a week of doing someone's homework or baking him cookies would be relatively harmless and easy to shake off once she was done. This, however, was turning out to be anything but.

"Who are you?" she whispered, removing the headphones and placing them back on the bench. There was no answer from the empty apartment.

Finding nothing else of note, Rachel moved on. The door to the bedroom was open, and she flicked on the light hesitantly as she stepped inside.

The walls in here were painted a gorgeous slate color that wasn't quite grey and wasn't quite blue, and she fell in love with it almost instantly. There was a gigantic four-poster bed of dark, polished wood that took up most of the space in the room, and the bedding was a soft blue, a little paler and cooler than the walls. It looked incredibly soft and Rachel itched to touch, but she didn't quite dare. Something in her hung back—perhaps the fact that this was the bedroom of an unknown male—a male, no less, who had _purchased_ her at a charity auction for an ungodly price. She had his permission to poke around, but touching his bed still seemed more than a little inappropriate.

The vague unease in her belly did not stop her, however, from digging through the dresser drawers or opening the closet. There was very little here—some dark jeans, a few button-down shirts on wooden hangers in the closet, a few silk ties, and some socks and underwear, folded neatly. Everything looked immaculately kept and in the best taste—expensive, clearly. If anything was distressed, she suspected it was purposefully so, not the result of a football game in the park or a spill at a backyard barbeque.

But other than the clothes, Rachel found absolutely nothing in the bedroom—just as with the rest of the house—to give any sort of clue as to what kind of person her phantom was. There were no photos on the walls or the top of the dresser. There were no DVDs or CDs anywhere—though she did find an iPod dock on one of the twin nightstands. There were no keepsakes, no memorabilia...nothing to differentiate this room from anyone else's. Either her phantom was supremely boring—a fact she wasn't willing to concede just yet, not with all the trouble he'd gone to to lure her here—or he didn't want her knowing anything about him. Everything here—every item, every object, was carefully staged to give her only a tiny glimpse and no more. Even when he wasn't here, she was completely at his mercy. He was controlling her knowledge and therefore controlling the situation.

And she'd thought getting the jump on him would give her the upper hand. Snorting quietly, she shut the dresser drawers and left the room.

The last place she hadn't explored yet—barring a linen closet full of towels—was the bathroom, and Rachel flicked on the light in there, prepared to give the space only a cursory glance.

Except, there was another note for her on the white tile countertop.

Her name was typed neatly across the front of the envelope, and Rachel pulled out the folded sheet of paper carefully. What could he possibly have to say to her here, in the bathroom of all places?

_Dearest __Rachel_, the note read, _how __do __you __like __the __place?__I __can __only __hope __that __you'll __be __happy __here. __Please, __think __of __my __home __as __yours __for __the __duration __of __our __time __together._

_My purchase of you, in accordance with the rules of McKinley's charity auction, consists of a certain amount of allotted time each day spent doing tasks at my request. I'm sure most of your fellow volunteers will be expected to do annoyingly onerous chores, such as fetching lunch or carrying books. Rest assured, I expect nothing from you of that nature._

_Since the week technically begins tomorrow, I have a task for you to complete before our meeting. It's a simple enough thing. I want you to go to your girls—the ones you have contact with most—and ask them about their landscaping. That's all. Doesn't sound too hard, does it?_

_We'll talk more when we meet tomorrow. For now, make yourself at home. Everything that's mine is yours._

Rachel stuffed the note back in the envelope, biting lightly on her lip. It made no sense. Why would he want her to ask another girl about yard maintenance? And why had such a note been left in the bathroom? Not that a condo like this had a yard in which to leave the note, but still. The note in the kitchen had been about food. The note in the mailbox had contained a key. This one just made no sense.

And that bit about making herself at home was just laughable. She had come here intending to find out what she could about her mystery bidder, and had learned that he was a phantom. Now that there was nothing else to find, she was going home.

Rachel left the warm, beautiful condo more than a little miffed. She'd come here to confront her bidder and to figure out what to tell Finn, and she'd accomplished neither task. If anything, she had more questions now than she'd had earlier. And what, seriously, was she supposed to tell her boyfriend? That he'd just unwittingly been caught up in some other dude's strange version of Phantom of the Opera? That he'd have to do battle with him, hypothetically, in order to win her? Because, unless the guy was Jesse St. James—who was safely in California, good riddance—she really didn't know if he would. Finn wasn't the fighting type. Not over her.

Still, she thought as she left the building and returned to her car, she was resourceful. She'd figure something out.

* * *

><p>"Santana?"<p>

God, this seemed like _such_ a bad idea. But Tina had only looked at her oddly when she asked the question, Quinn probably had gardeners who tended the yard for her family, and Santana actually had been remarkably less antagonistic toward her since she'd started wearing her Britney-inspired wardrobe. Rachel was still wearing her new look today, having decided that she was going to do her best to keep Finn irritated and therefore less inclined to ask her about anything, including the night before. It was a stalling tactic, yes, but she didn't know what else to do. She didn't have any good answers, and everything in her understood that this was a very dangerous game she was playing with her phantom.

But for the moment, at least, everything seemed remarkably fine. The other girl looked up from her desk in their shared Spanish class—and why they let her take Spanish at all, Rachel didn't know—and actually waited for Rachel to continue without tossing out a stinging slur.

"I was wondering if I could ask you...about your landscaping?"

For a moment, Santana's face did not change. Then a slow smile Rachel didn't at all like the looks of spread across her beautiful features. What had Rachel gotten herself into? Was there some sort of secret society or something, made up of people who thought flowers and hedges were dirty? Had her phantom deliberately put her in a compromising position, knowing who she would ask and what the reaction would be?

"Well, congratulations," Santana said finally, still smiling widely.

"For what?" Rachel asked cautiously. When Santana was happy, she usually had cause to worry.

"For joining the ranks of the over-twelve population."

Rachel had no idea what gardening could possibly have to do with relative age, but she kept her mouth shut. It wasn't her usual modus operandi, but she was out of her depth in this conversation and she wasn't going to give Santana any ammunition with which to laugh at her.

"Brit and I are actually getting together after school for a session," Santana said. "You should come. Meet us at her house at three."

Rachel considered the invitation as she settled into her seat, pulling out her Spanish book and trying to avoid Finn's suspicious stare.

"What could you possibly have to talk about with Santana?" he demanded, leaning sideways toward her without actually looking at her. It had become one of his tricks lately, since she issued him an ultimatum he ignored, and he had expressed his dislike of her new wardrobe, which _she_ had ignored. If he wasn't going to play nice, she didn't see why she had to.

"If you must know," Rachel hissed as Mr. Schue stepped into the classroom, "she invited me to get together with her and Brittany after school today. And since you have _football_ practice and everything, I'm going to go."

"You're going to go hang out with Santana and Brittany?" Finn said with a disbelieving snort. "Get real, Rachel. Whatever they're planning, I thought you were smart enough not to fall for it."

"We're just going to do a little gardening." Rachel considered his words. Under normal circumstances, she probably would have agreed with him. But she was mad enough at him about football and about her clothes that she was going to do this, just because he didn't want her to. If she had been on the fence before, she wasn't now.

"Gardening." Finn looked supremely skeptical. "Really? Have you ever gotten your hands dirty in your life?"

Okay, he had a point. But Rachel wasn't going to admit it—not now. So what if he thought it was weird? It wasn't like she was cheating, so it was really none of his business.

"You didn't tell me what happened last night," he muttered. "Rumor has it some dude shelled out over two grand for you."

"It's no concern of yours." Rachel flipped to a blank page in her notebook and started scribbling down what Mr. Schue was writing on the board in preparation for class.

"Like hell it's not, when some other guy just waltzes in and _buys_ my girlfriend!"

"Shh!" Rachel admonished as Mr. Schue turned around. "Class is starting."

"Normal guys don't have money like that," Finn hissed. He still sounded angry, but at least he had lowered his volume. "And even if they did, they wouldn't spend it on—"

Rachel froze. Though he'd managed to stop himself, she knew exactly what he meant to say. "Go ahead," she said. Part of her was hurt at the words that she knew he'd meant, but a bigger part of her was furious. "Say it. They wouldn't spend it on a girl like me."

"You said you always want the truth from me," Finn said, "and this is the truth. Even that Jacob kid doesn't have the money to indulge his obsession to that extent. The only—" He stopped short again, and Rachel snuck a look at his face. He looked...surprised, but not in a pleasant way.

"What?" she whispered as Mr. Schue called the class to order. "The only what?"

Finn swallowed; she watched his Adam's apple move in his throat. "The only guy with the money to fund a whim like that, that I know of, is St. Jerk."

Rachel wrinkled her nose, dismissing Finn's suggestion. "Jesse's in California," she said, shrugging lightly. "Besides, he doesn't like me. He made that perfectly clear last year."

Finn looked like he was going to argue with her, but Mr. Schue cast a glance in their direction and he stopped. Rachel thought that was just as well. Whatever Finn had to say about Jesse, she didn't want or need to hear it. She was _over_ that beautiful, duplicitous boy. He'd lied to her, deceived her, and ultimately humiliated her, and he'd done it all without a bit of remorse.

Sure, she thought, there had been that...that flicker of something in his eyes just before he crushed an egg on her head in the McKinley parking lot. She had almost thought, just for a moment, that he was going to stop. Take it all back. Pull her behind him and refuse to let the other members of Vocal Adrenaline continue to pelt her. That flicker in the stormy blue of his eyes was the one thing she couldn't understand out of their entire time together. Clearly he was an excellent actor, or else she wouldn't have fallen so completely both for him and for the deception. Every time he touched her, it felt _so_ real. So perfect. With Finn, each kiss and hesitant caress was awkward, like he wasn't sure what he was doing or whether he was allowed to do it. But with Jesse, it had felt altogether different. He was so sure of himself, and that confidence came across even in the lightest touch of his fingers. She'd melted each and every time he pulled her into his arms, and it became harder and harder to leave that delicious, comforting grip as time went on.

Of course, now she knew that it had all been an acting exercise and wasn't real at all. It made sense, in a twisted sort of way. That delicious, melting sort of touch was clearly a fairy tale, a story, a lie conjured up by Jesse's immense talent. Like so many other things, the reality of a romantic relationship was far different, and that's what she had with Finn—reality. Reality was awkward and halting, sweaty palms and fumbling fingers, stammering declarations of love and then sudden bad moods when she did something he didn't like. Was it perfect? No. But it was _real_, and that was important. She loved the realm of make-believe—she wouldn't be so devoted to a life on the stage otherwise—but she needed to be able to separate out the reality. Finn was helping her do that, and she was grateful for the lesson, even if it wasn't fun. What Jesse had offered her had been amazing, but it wasn't reality. She had to accept that nothing that perfect would ever be true, and embrace what the real world felt like. Real-world romance wasn't perfect, but it was better than none at all. Rachel was committed to that thought as she bent her head over her book and began following along with Mr. Schue's lecture.

But she still couldn't shake the memory of Jesse's stormy blue eyes, and that strange flicker of hesitation she even now could not explain.

* * *

><p>"Oh, good," Brittany said when she opened the front door and caught sight of Rachel standing on the porch. She grabbed her wrist and dragged her inside. "Santana thought you might chicken out, but I said that was impossible, since you're vegan."<p>

Rachel let herself be led along a hallway, more and more puzzled by this recent turn of events. She had plenty of time for a little landscaping before she was supposed to meet her phantom, but Brittany wasn't leading her toward a yard or even a garage. Instead, she pulled Rachel along to the...bathroom?

"So you did show up," Santana said. She had a plastic shopping bag on the counter, and she was rifling through it. "I wasn't sure you would."

"Why wouldn't I?" Rachel asked cautiously. She couldn't see what Santana was doing from this angle, but she was suddenly extremely suspicious. The note telling her to ask another girl about landscaping had been found in a bathroom, and now they were here...in another bathroom. What wasn't she understanding?

"This is a very important step in a girl's development," Santana said. The sound of tearing plastic echoed through the little room. Brittany shut the door, snapped the lock in place, and started digging in a cupboard, pulling out a stack of bath towels. "Since you've decided to stop looking like a bait girl on 'To Catch a Predator,' Brit and I are willing to share our vast knowledge with you."

"...Thank you?" Rachel said after a beat. Irritation...no, downright _fury_ was beginning to blossom in the pit of her stomach. Not at Santana or Brittany, who were completely unaware of the reason behind Rachel's initial question, but at her phantom for putting her in this position to begin with. He _knew_. Whatever this puzzle was, she was positive he knew the answer when he gave her this task. It had seemed harmless enough at the time, but now she was beginning to think it was anything but.

Still, this was winning her points with Santana and Brittany, and she wasn't about to ruin that now. Not when they so obviously approved of this request. Whatever they wanted, she'd go through with it.

And then, later this afternoon, she was going to rip her phantom a new one.

But the anger was completely eclipsed by panic when Brittany started shimmying out of her cheerleading skirt. "I'm first," she said calmly, pulling off the tiny scrap of material she called underwear. She wet a washcloth under a stream of hot water from the sink as Santana snapped open a large bath towel and spread it on the tile floor. Brittany lay down on her back, the wet washcloth pressed to the juncture between her legs.

"Normally we don't let things get this dire," Santana said, "but Brit-Brit hasn't been seeing anyone in, like, at least two weeks."

"Which is like a record for me," Brittany added from the floor. She didn't seem at all apprehensive about being naked from the waist down, only a warm washcloth obscuring her private area.

What Brittany's sexual liaisons or lack thereof had to do with anything, Rachel didn't know. She kept quiet, deciding that discretion was probably the better part of valor in this particular instance, and watched with growing horror as Santana settled on the floor next to Brittany with a brand-new razor and a pack of extra blades, a pink can of shaving gel, and a plastic bowl of hot water.

"Step one," Santana said, holding up a finger, "hot water. Once you learn to do this on your own, a shower or bath is probably the easiest way to get that over with. Since we're all together, a wet washcloth works just as well."

"Step two," Brittany said as Santana clicked a blade into place on the razor, "trimming." She held up a pair of tiny cuticle scissors, passing them to Santana, and opened her legs, moving the washcloth down between them and exposing the damp mound on top.

"This step isn't necessary unless you let the jungle get weedy, like Brit's here." Santana took the scissors and a pinch of Brittany's pubic hair, pulling it taut and snipping close to the skin. "Don't look so horrified," she said with a little snort. "We're all girls. It's nothing you haven't seen before."

This was irrefutably true, and yet Rachel still felt apprehension rising up in her belly as she watched Santana efficiently snip at the soft hair. Brittany's skin was so pale that she could see the veins, blue and purple, running underneath the surface. The hair Santana was cutting was a little darker than the blond strands on her head, and a little reddish, too. Rachel blanched. Clearly "landscaping" was a euphemism for getting rid of unwanted body hair, and she wasn't at all sure she wanted to do that. She was _very_ sure she didn't want to do it here, now, with Santana and Brittany watching—oh, god, or _helping_. No. No no no no _no_.

But she was stuck. If she ran out now, they'd know she hadn't had a clue what she was asking for, and Santana would want to know who put the idea in her head in the first place. Rachel would have to admit to everything—the phantom, his note, all of it. And she honestly didn't think she could do that. Going through with this, no matter how mortifying, was probably the better option.

"So," Santana said, moving the washcloth aside. Brittany shifted her legs, giving access to the hair between them. "What was your bidder like? Who was he? I didn't recognize the voice."

Rachel chewed on her lip. She'd managed to get out of telling Finn by being upset and snippy with him, but that wasn't going to work with these two. "I don't know," she confessed.

Santana raised an eye, thankfully pausing her work with the sharp scissors while her attention was diverted. "You don't know? Didn't he show up to pay?"

"It was a patsy," Rachel said. "The guy who bid was a patsy. He paid in $100 bills and then gave me a note from the real person, telling me to meet him later this afternoon."

"That's hot," Brittany said, propping herself up on her elbows.

"That's creepy." Santana finished with the scissors. "Step four—lather."

"I like this part," Brittany added. She brought her knees up, spreading herself wide on the floor. Rachel tried to keep her expression neutral, but she was incredibly uncomfortable with the whole procedure. Yeah, she shaved her legs and under her arms, but she'd never considered "landscaping" her pubic hair before. As far as she knew, that was something porn stars did, not regular people. Plus, it wasn't like anyone was going to see it. She was honestly not all that interested in sex, and it wasn't even a possibility right now, what with her tiff with Finn.

But she was stuck, as she'd told herself multiple times already, so she watched—with a little bit of interest, she had to admit—as Santana smeared pink gel that immediately turned into thick white lather all over the area to be shaved. It smelled fruity and sweet, and Brittany scooped up a fingerful of lather to play with. Santana wet the razor in the bowl and then carefully began drawing it across Brittany's skin in long strokes, pausing between each to rinse the razor in the bowl of hot water and wipe it on the towel.

"You want to do this in as few strokes as possible over each bit of skin," she lectured as she worked. "Razor burn is a real thing, and it doesn't feel good. A couple of swipes isn't going to kill you, but much more than that and you'll definitely be unhappy. That's why it's best to have help the first few times, especially since it's hard to see what you're doing on your own body."

"Don't you think this is a little...barbaric?" Rachel squeaked.

"Why?" Brittany asked, drawing little doodles on her thigh with the excess lather. "It's sexy."

"I mean, going to all this trouble—changing all this about you—for a guy?"

Santana snorted. "Girl, I change for no man. This is all for me. Brit's right—it's sexy as hell. You just wait until you get rid of that black jungle I'm sure is hiding up under your skirt, and you'll see what I mean." She took the damp washcloth, wet it a little more in her bowl, and carefully wiped away the lather on Brittany's skin in slow, long strokes. "Tell me what you think, Brit-Brit."

Brittany wiped her hand on the towel below her, then ran her fingers across her newly-shaved skin. "One stubbly spot here," she said, rubbing a small swatch of skin. "Otherwise—perfect. As usual."

"Of course as usual," Santana said with a grin. She applied more lather, ran the razor over the area Brittany had indicated, and wiped again. "Now what do you think?"

"Great." Brittany shimmied into a sitting position. "Trust me, Rachel, you'll love it."

"I don't know," Rachel said as Brittany climbed to her feet and wiggled out of the top of her cheerleading uniform. There was—predictably—nothing underneath, and Rachel studiously looked away as Santana smacked Brittany's pale ass.

"Shower," Santana ordered. "That's the next step, to rinse all the stubble and gel away. Then lotion, and then you're good to go."

Brittany hopped into the tub and pulled the curtain closed. A moment later the hiss of water sounded, along with a squeal.

Santana rolled her eyes. "I keep telling you not to get in until after it warms up," she said.

"I forget," Brittany called from the other side of the curtain.

Santana discarded the razor blade into the trash can and rinsed the handle in the sink. She dumped the water from her bowl, refilled it, and eyed Rachel speculatively as she snapped a new blade on the razor. "Ready, Berry? Or are you going to chicken out, like I guessed?"

"She can't chicken out," Brittany said, "I keep telling you. She's vegan."

And, the thing was, she was sort of right. Not about the reason, but Rachel understood that she couldn't back out now. Too much was on the line—her social standing with these two and therefore the rest of the glee club rested on her choice.

Slowly, absolutely sure no other single moment in her life could possibly be more mortifying, Rachel unhooked and unzipped her skirt. She thought about asking if she could just pull it up instead—not like that would be much better—but if they were going to make her jump in the shower afterward anyway, it hardly seemed to matter.

"Hurry it up," Santana said, patting the towel. "One thing you need to learn about residents of Lima Heights—we don't do patience."

Feeling her face flame, Rachel slipped out of her pink plaid underwear and lay down on the towel. Even through the terrycloth, the cold of the tile floor chilled her skin and she shivered. She heard the sound of water running, then felt damp heat as a washcloth was draped over her.

"Now, you have to decide what you want." Santana grabbed for the scissors as the shower turned off and Brittany's arm emerged, groping for a dry towel. "Brit likes the full monty, but you can keep a landing strip, or a little patch, or a design if you want." She grinned. "I've got a lightning bolt—want to see?"

"Uh…no, thanks," Rachel managed to squeak out. A pattern or design just seemed to make this whole endeavor even more ridiculous. Her legs were cold, and she squeezed them together nervously, feeling the sharp edges of her ankle bones pressing against each other. And a lightning bolt? Really? Sure, it had other connotations, but Rachel doubted she'd ever be able to look at something like that without thinking of Harry Potter, and _that_ was really not an image she wanted permanently linked in her brain with the sight of another girl's pubic hair. Boys didn't do things like this, she was almost positive. What was _with_ girls and this fanatical obsession with sharing the most intimate details and experiences of their lives? Why couldn't they be friends without all this extra…stuff?

"You sure?" Santana's grin turned devious. "We could do an initial. You're fighting with Finnocence right now, right? Let's put another guy's initial down there—not an F or an H—and make him jealous."

"He wouldn't be jealous," Rachel snapped, "because he wouldn't see it. We haven't...been naked around each other, and I'm not really all that interested in changing that anytime soon."

"You don't want to get naked with your boyfriend?" Brittany stuck her head out of the shower. She looked supremely puzzled.

"You know what that makes you?" Santana asked, pulling the washcloth away from Rachel's skin. The bathroom air felt cold, even with a little steam from Brittany's short shower swirling around them. Rachel jerked in surprise, and before she could gather her thoughts to either protest or settle herself, she felt a pinching tug as a little bit of hair was pulled and cut. Santana didn't even miss a beat as she continued to talk. "Besides frigid, I mean." She turned to toss the first cut bit into the trash can. "Move your legs," she said, pushing at Rachel's tightly-clenched thighs. "We need to get the washcloth all up in there. Water softens the skin and makes everything easier."

Had Rachel thought earlier that she couldn't possibly get more mortified? Well, she'd been wrong. She was positive she was beet red from her scalp to her chest as she forced herself to do as Santana said. The other girl's no-nonsense attitude—still a little snarky, but neither cruel nor terribly warm—was actually helping, she thought. The businesslike way she touched her, and talked, made everything just a little bit easier to take.

But it didn't erase the fact that no one else had touched her here—ever—and that first person, rather than a boy of her choosing, was _Santana_, a girl who had mocked and ridiculed her for years and was only now being less than bullying because she approved of Rachel's change of wardrobe. Perhaps worse, it was being done on the whim of a guy Rachel didn't even know, who had conned her into this. He _had_ to have known the result of his question, didn't he? He had to have understood what would happen when she asked?

"Anyway," Santana went on, "it makes you _friends_, Berry. Not lovers. When you're not in the least interested in your boyfriend's junk, or getting it in yours, it means you're just friends."

"That's not true," Rachel protested, obeying as Brittany knelt beside her, wrapped in a towel, and pulled her knees up and her legs further apart so Santana could reach between them.

"Your jungle isn't actually as bad as I thought," Santana said idly. "The one time we talked Quinn into doing this, she had hair all up her ass crack and everything."

Oh, god, that was _not_ an image Rachel wanted lodged in her head either. She screwed her eyes up, wincing at the thought.

"Seriously," Brittany agreed. "She got so mad at Santana laughing at her that she refused to ever do it again."

"Her loss," Santana said with a shrug. "I know Puck likes it better bare—not that that's why I do it—and I wonder what he thought of that overgrown bush."

Honestly, Rachel had never really thought about it before. Not even the personal preference of a guy, either, but her _own_ preference. It had never occurred to her to even attempt something like this. When she was younger, sure, she'd been hairless down there, but she'd had that sleek, curly covering for so long now that she honestly couldn't remember what it felt like not to have it. Brittany had looked pink and smooth once the hair was gone—kind of…innocent, actually, though Rachel knew that made no sense. The skin had been a little darker—redder—between her legs, not at all like the milky translucence of her thighs and stomach. Rachel wondered what her own flesh would look like, bare for the first time in years, once they were done.

"It's not true," Rachel said again, pulling her thoughts back to Santana's comment before that disturbing image of Quinn below the skirt. "Finn and I are in _love_. We don't have to be sexually active in order to have a relationship."

"In order to have a _friendship_," Santana corrected. "Although, I prefer the whole friends-with-benefits scenario, personally."

"A _relationship_," Rachel insisted. She flinched slightly as she felt the cold touch of shaving gel on her mound, rubbed swiftly into lather. If she was honest with herself, really honest, she had to admit that she didn't mind Santana's businesslike touch as much as she thought she would. She didn't _like_ it exactly—certainly it didn't turn her on—but it wasn't as bad as she'd assumed it would be. "We can be romantically involved and not sexually involved."

"But you're not." Santana flicked her eyes up to meet Rachel's for the first time since Rachel had taken her skirt off. "You're not speaking to each other except to snip about football and your wardrobe."

"So not romantic," Brittany agreed. "You know what's romantic?"

"What?" Rachel asked cautiously.

"Meatballs."

The first swipe of the razor definitely felt strange. It was like…almost like a cold burn as the sharp metal scraped against her tender skin, despite the fact that the blade had been dipped in hot water. Rachel propped herself up on her elbows as Brittany had done, intent on watching. It was a little nerve-wracking, to see her rival's hand with a sharp instrument in it, so close to such a delicate part of her body. But Santana was nothing but efficiently careful, and the remaining short dark hairs left after the trimming seemed to melt away. Her mound looked just like the rest of her—smooth and olive in tone, warmer than Brittany or Quinn but a little paler than Santana. Between her legs, though, like Brittany, she was a little darker and pinker. Rachel was honestly surprised at how much she liked it. She ran a hand across a section that Santana had finished, and it was possibly the softest skin she'd ever touched in her life. Softer than the inside of her elbow, softer than a baby…

"What's sexy about meatballs?" Santana asked.

"Like in 'Lady and the Tramp'?" Brittany said. "You know, spaghetti and meatballs, the whole thing." Brittany leaned back against the wall, her toes near Rachel's head. "I'd like to have a guy I could do that with, you know? Roll a meatball over to him with my nose."

"Ew." Santana wrinkled her own nose. "That's disgusting."

"You think all romance is disgusting."

"Most of the time," Santana agreed. "But that's not the point. The point is that a relationship without sex is called friendship."

"It is not," Rachel insisted. "Finn and I kiss and cuddle. You don't do that with friends."

"Santana and I kiss and cuddle all the time," Brittany said.

Rachel puzzled over that in silence for a moment. It was different, she _knew_ it was, but she wasn't sure she could put that feeling into words in a way that made sense.

"Done," Santana said with a last swipe. "Feel around and tell me what you think."

Rachel slipped a hand over her newly-bare skin. It was incredibly soft, and also incredibly sensitive. Each touch buzzed up her spine with strange little tingles. "I don't…" she started, not sure what to say. She liked it. She really liked it, and that was wholly unexpected.

"She likes it," Brittany giggled.

"Another convert," Santana said smugly. "I knew there was someone interesting hiding under those hideous sweaters." She slapped Rachel's hip. "Shower—go rinse off, and make sure all the little hairs are gone, or else they'll irritate your skin and itch like hell."

After everything else, pulling off her shirt and bra and jumping in the shower seemed like nothing, but Rachel still followed Brittany's cold-water-and-squeal example rather than loiter naked outside the shower curtain. In the shower, she ran her hands over her skin again, quickly falling in love with the way it felt. It was like stroking velvet or microfiber in just the right way so everything was flattened down and smooth to the touch, except better. This was her own skin, soft and girlishly innocent, the soft, bare lips at the juncture of her legs not reminiscent of childhood at all, but speaking of some new, adult secret, perhaps because of the context. T his was a ritual into which Santana and Brittany had initiated her, and she found that she understood exactly what Santana had meant. This wasn't about pleasing a guy, but about pleasing herself. In fact, she was fairly sure Finn would be horrified if he found out what she'd done today. Not that he was a prude, exactly, but he was supremely uncomfortable discussing sex, while Rachel herself was much more comfortable with the words and not the actions. She was perfectly at ease talking about desire and body parts, while any conversation in which they came up turned Finn into a red, stammering mess. He'd much rather do it without talking, and now that she thought about it, Rachel wondered if that was perhaps part of her hesitation toward sex. Not just that she was too afraid to end up like Quinn, but also because she wanted to talk it all out first and Finn did not. They were uncomfortable with different aspects of moving forward into a physical relationship.

Santana pulled the shower curtain open and shoved her way into the little space, abruptly severing Rachel's train of thought. "Move it," she said, "my turn."

Rachel couldn't help but look, and Santana hadn't been lying—she did indeed have a little hair left at the juncture of her legs, and it was fashioned into a lightning bolt shape a couple of inches long. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to look at her fellow clubmember the same way again.

Stumbling out of the shower, she grabbed a towel from the pile and wrapped it hastily around herself. Luckily she was an expert at showering without wetting her hair, and the ends were only slightly damp. She didn't want to show up for her meeting with her phantom with wet hair. If "landscaping" in his world meant _this_, who knew what wet hair might mean.

"Don't rub," Brittany said, stopping Rachel's movements. "Pat the skin dry gently."

"She's right," Santana called from inside the shower. "Anything else can irritate the hell out of it. Pat gently."

Rachel made a face, but obeyed. "Irritate the hell" wasn't something she wanted to mess with; not with this particular piece of her anatomy.

"Also," Santana said, turning the water off and popping her head out of the shower, "no panties."

Rachel stared. "What did you say?"

"No undies," Brittany said calmly. She handed Rachel a bottle of lotion that looked expensive.

"That's the deal." Santana didn't bother wrapping a towel around herself, instead just patting dry. "Lotion, but only on the outer skin. Even this super-sensitive stuff isn't good to stick all up in your folds. Then air-dry for the rest of the night. You can put them back on tomorrow."

So she was going to have to go meet her phantom in her Britney-inspired clothes…without underwear? Rachel was beginning to get the very strong sensation that the universe was laughing at her. This was all some cruel karmic joke for something terrible she'd done as a child, wasn't it?

Brittany handed her her skirt, and Rachel stepped into it quickly. "How long does it take to grow back?" she asked, slipping back into her shoes and wadding her underwear up in her hand.

"Depends," Santana said with a shrug. "If you like it like this, try shaving yourself in two days. It's easier to keep smooth than to start over. If you want it to grow back, you'll probably itch pretty badly for a couple of days, but then you'll be fine."

"You didn't say anything about that," Rachel griped.

"You didn't ask." Santana righted herself. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, you have a master to go meet." She grinned mockingly. "Have fun!"

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later, Rachel pulled up in front of the condominium complex again. It was still light outside, and the building looked much less intimidating in the sun.<p>

But her phantom was in there this time, waiting for her, and that made everything much more real. Her heart began to pound harder, and she felt adrenaline slipping through her system like a drug. Meeting a stranger in his condo wasn't a wise idea. She _knew_ that. But…something about that dare, and the way every word he said to her was practically a challenge, wouldn't let her stop.

Still, that didn't mean she couldn't take precautions. She pulled out her cell phone and quickly composed a text message to Finn. _Got __to __do __something_, it read. _If __you __don__'__t __hear __from __me __in __an __hour, __you __have __my __permission __to __panic. __The __address __is __on __my __nightstand, __in __my __bedroom._ After sending, she turned her phone off so any irritated answers from her boyfriend wouldn't interrupt the angry tirade she wholeheartedly wanted to unleash on her unsuspecting phantom.

Once again, no one was in the lobby. The walk to the elevator and subsequent ride to the fourth floor felt like the longest wait of her life. Rachel felt her palms sweating as she approached the door. The faint sound of music wafted through it, and she listened carefully to the sound. _Music __of __the __Night_. How apropos.

The door was unlocked, and as Rachel pushed it open, the music grew louder. But more than that, a scent hit her nose as she stepped inside—a scent she hadn't even realized she remembered until she breathed it in again. It was…a thousand different things rolled into one. Spearmint. Skin. A particular brand of laundry detergent, and a faint hint of either cologne or aftershave. All of it together tugged at her heart in a way that was physically painful, revealing an old wound that hadn't actually healed correctly after all.

_Jesse_.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Happy holidays to everyone, since this will probably be the last post from me until after Christmas. I love you guys, and I want you to know that!_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Yup, I did squick some of you out with that last chapter! Lol, I promise it wasn't meant as femslash! I'm pleased to see that nobody (nobody who reviewed, anyway) thought Jesse and Santana were in cahoots. I did worry that it might come across that way (they're not). Well, Jesse's in this chapter, but I can't promise it isn't squicky. I did mention that this is a dark!Jesse, right?_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

><p><strong>Dare<strong>

The door was unlocked, and as Rachel pushed it open, the music grew louder. But more than that, a scent hit her nose as she stepped inside—a scent she hadn't even realized she remembered until she breathed it in again. It was…a thousand different things rolled into one. Spearmint. Skin. A particular brand of laundry detergent, and a faint hint of either cologne or aftershave. All of it together tugged at her heart in a way that was physically painful, revealing an old wound that hadn't actually healed correctly after all.

_Jesse_.

Fury ripped through her, compounded by the pain of this sudden and entirely unexpected meeting. Her vision blurred as she stepped into the condo, intent on nothing but causing hurt to equal hers. It wasn't _fair_. He was gone—_gone_! He couldn't just come back now and fuck with her life; he didn't get to do that. Whatever sick joke this was—whatever game he thought he was playing—it ended here and now. She was older and wiser. He didn't get to do this to her anymore.

Before she could think about her plan of attack, she saw him. He was standing with his back to her, and the iPod dock from the bedroom was now in the living area, playing one of Andrew Lloyd Webber's most iconic songs. Her heart ached as if the egging had only just happened, the deception of Regionals still raw and bleeding, and without another thought she started for him.

He turned before she reached him, and when her clenched fist connected with his jaw she definitely felt it. He said nothing at first, nor did he attempt to stop her, and she drew her hand back to hit him again. It hurt, but the solid sound of her knuckles connecting with his flesh was also so, so satisfying. Months had passed since she'd seen or had any contact with him, and she'd thought she was over him—over all the hurt and the betrayal—but now, face to face once more, she found that it wasn't true. She hurt, and she wanted to make him hurt. The clenched line of his jaw—so firm, and so uncomfortably like his expression the day he'd lured her to a parking lot only to throw eggs at her—did not make her feel better at all.

After the third punch, his hand shot out and caught her wrist. He squeezed slightly, putting enough pressure on the joint to get her attention in no uncertain terms. "No. More. Hitting," he said firmly, leaning toward her. The smell of him was strong in her nose, though it was really only a light scent. It just affected her more than anything else she'd ever smelled. "If you have so much pent-up energy, I'm sure I could help you channel it into a more appropriate avenue."

Oh, god, his eyes were that stormy cobalt color—the one she remembered so well. Though his voice was steady and calm, his eyes sent sparks shimmering down her spine. He was mesmerizing—so fierce, so adamant. It was one of the things she'd always been unable to resist about him.

But she wasn't a sophomore anymore, and she didn't belong to Jesse. Finn was her boyfriend now, and she wasn't interested in whatever sick joke Jesse meant to play on them. "Let me go," she hissed, tugging at her wrist.

"I find I'm reluctant." Jesse's face shifted slightly, a mocking hint apparent in the line of his mouth, though he wasn't smiling. "I warn you that if you hit me again, I'll return the favor."

"You wouldn't hit a girl."

Jesse released her wrist, only to deliver a stinging smack to her skirt-covered backside. "Don't tell me what I will and won't do."

Rachel grabbed the area he'd struck and took several steps backward. "How dare you!"

"Well, at least now you're talking to me instead of punching. See? An improvement."

"I wouldn't talk to you if you were the last person on earth, Jesse St. James!"

"Well, you are," he pointed out. "Talking to me, that is. And technically, since I bought you, you really don't have a choice. I'd hate to be so crass as to force you, however. Will you come sit?"

"No," Rachel snapped. "I'm leaving. I don't care how much money you paid, and I don't care about any stupid dare! I _loathe_ you, and I have no interest in sitting, or talking, or whatever else you have planned."

She whirled, intent on executing a picture-perfect stormout, but suddenly Jesse was behind her, too close, and he pressed her up against the wall, her face turned to the side, his chest heavy on her back. "I'm afraid I don't believe you," he murmured.

"Let me go!" she demanded, struggling against him. She wasn't sure if she was afraid or not—this wasn't a random stranger, after all, it was _Jesse_. And while he'd broken her heart, he had never physically hurt her. But even though she didn't know whether or not she was scared, she knew for certain that she was furious. She moved, trying to wrench her body away, but he was pressed tightly against her back, his arms on the wall restricting movement.

"Not yet," he said, biting the words out through clenched teeth. Whether it was the effort of holding her still or the fact that she was making him angry, too, Rachel didn't know. "You see," he said, "I discovered something over the summer."

"That you're a conceited ass and you deserve some horrible accident that disfigures that pretty face or ruins your voice?"

"Such an imagination you have." He ran his nose along her hair, and Rachel felt an involuntary shiver roll up her spine. "No, Rachel." Her name fell from his tongue just as it always had, like something delicious, as if he were savoring the feel of it. "I discovered something fascinating about you and me. I know you know it, too—deep down, though you've apparently refused to admit it to yourself. It's okay; it took me a while, too, and I'm here to help you now."

"You can _help me_," Rachel hissed, "by letting me go!"

"You see," he said, ignoring her request, "the truth is, you don't loathe me. No matter how awful I was to you—and make no mistake, I behaved terribly at the end of last school year—you can't make yourself hate me."

"I do hate you," she insisted, struggling again. She reached a foot back, searching for his so she could stomp on his toes, but he slipped his knee between her legs, pressing them apart.

"Try that again and I'll use my hand," he cautioned. "No violence, Rach. Whatever you do, you get right back."

She froze. The miniscule length of her short, pleated skirt, plus the fact that she wasn't wearing underwear, had put her in a very uncomfortable position. If he used his hand, he'd know she was bare under her skirt—not just commando, but hairless as well—and he'd know exactly why. It had been his stupid request that got her into this mess to begin with.

"Good girl," he said softly, his voice feathering across her skin, close to her ear. Something inside her quivered, though she tried to squelch the sensation. "I hate to use touch as a threat, but you think you don't want it right now. I hope soon to show you differently."

Rachel was about to snap back that she'd never want his touch again, but she kept her mouth shut. The less she said, perhaps the quicker he'd let her go. Then she could get the hell out of this place and never come back.

"Now," Jesse said, "this is what's going to happen. I'm going to let go, and we're going to sit on the couch and talk. After a while, I'm going to make you an eggplant pasta dinner, we'll sit at the table and eat like civilized people, and then we'll make arrangements for you to come back tomorrow."

"Absolutely not!" A surge of anger flowed through Rachel and, without thinking, she moved her head enough to sink her teeth into his arm resting against the wall.

Jesse made a noise almost like a grunt, and he shifted his body away from hers enough that he could smack her bottom again with his hand. The strike was sharp, and surprisingly loud. "Don't make me do something you really won't like," he warned. "Let go."

When she didn't immediately obey, he spanked her again. Rachel winced against the strike. Her fathers had never hit her—_never_—and she was not happy about Jesse doing it now. A couple of smacks with his open hand didn't hurt all that much, but it certainly wasn't pleasant, either. A faint, throbbing warmth began as he brought his hand down a third time. She winced away, but he was still pressing her against the wall and there was nowhere for her to go. She dug her teeth into his arm a little more, tightening her jaw. He _wasn't_ going to win this one. She was going to bite until he let her go. It was an intensely physical game of chicken, and she wasn't planning on losing.

"Must everything be a confrontation with you?" Jesse said, sounding almost regretful. He spanked her again, and Rachel bit down harder on the meat of his arm. He exhaled swiftly, changed his position against her back again, and she shuddered in surprise when she felt his hand slide between her thighs and inch upward.

"I warned you," he breathed against her neck. "I said I'd use my hand instead of my leg, and I meant it. Get your teeth out of my arm, and I will let go."

Because her teeth were buried in his arm, she couldn't very well tell him that he had to let go first, but she wiggled her jaw slightly, hoping the sensation got her point across. He gripped her thigh tighter with his free hand, and she felt his muscles tense against her mouth. Slowly his hand inched higher, his knee pinning her in place and holding her open. Her entire body was rigid, bracing for his touch to rise just that tiny bit more and for a hand that wasn't hers to touch between her legs for the second time that day. She hadn't minded Santana's brusque efficiency, but she definitely minded this. It was an imposition of the most blatant kind—he was trying to win this battle of power, and she wasn't going to let him. She'd make him follow through on his threat, just to prove that she wasn't backing down.

"Just let go," he commanded, his hand drawing ever higher. "Just let go, and I will release you."

But if she let go, he'd win. In a way, by refusing to release his arm, she was giving him permission, and she knew that. He'd placed the power to stop him in her hands. She just wasn't willing to pay the price.

Slowly, very gently, his hand rose further and stroked through her bare folds. He exhaled near her ear, a ragged sound and a hot wash of air across her skin. "Christ, Rachel."

She felt like echoing the sentiment. Her knees quivered, and she leaned further into the wall. Santana's hands had felt nothing like this. Jesse's agile fingers stroked over her skin, igniting a slow, liquid warmth that shivered through her veins. It was like...like nothing she'd ever felt before. Electricity. Heat. Smooth and soft, yet achy at the same time. She swallowed hard, biting down on his arm a little more firmly even as he stroked her, his hand both gentle and insistent, not backing down. Each hurled word, each physical lash, had heightened the competitive natures between them to bring them to this moment, where she was pressed between Jesse and the wall and his hand was between her legs.

His touch slid further between her folds, finding moisture and spreading it almost lazily. He was breathing deeply in her ear, and she swore she could feel his heart hammering against her back. She was breathing heavily, too, her nostrils flaring as her mouth clamped tightly around the muscle of his arm.

He wasn't backing down, nor did she expect him to. Chemicals exploded into her bloodstream, ignited by his touch. This wasn't the smooth, romantic Jesse she'd known during the last school year. No, this was an altogether different creature. This was the boy she'd watched sing "Bohemian Rhapsody" in front of a sold-out auditorium during Regionals—in front of a crowd, but singling her out nonetheless, with a soul-crushing intensity she could neither understand nor quantify. This was the boy who had informed her in no uncertain terms that she'd broken his heart _first_, as if the timing of her ill-advised Run Joey Run video were the most important part of the equation. She'd wounded his pride, and in turn he'd broken her heart.

But all of the backstory and the reasons and the questions were pushed firmly from her mind the moment his hand shifted, reaching forward, and found her clit. Liquid fire—pure, unadulterated pleasure. He surrounded her, pressing her harder into the wall, and his hand wasn't gentle anymore, but she didn't care. Her body craved this touch, craved the heat and the coiling tightness in her belly, the way her knees were shaking and every nerve ending in her body seemed to light when his fingers flickered over that spot. He was rubbing now—first circles and then an up-and-down motion that made her squeal around the mouthful of skin in her teeth, and then—oh, god, that was a finger sliding up inside her, and her body was slick and he was almost panting in her ear, and she could smell and feel him all around her, touching her, _inside_ her, and something snapped almost audibly.

She was convulsing, her body pulsing around his hand, her vision whiting out as a sensation more intense and more pleasurable than anything she'd ever felt before ripped violently through her, holding her captive for long moments. She bit down hard, a sound somewhere between a whimper and a scream muffled against his arm, and she tasted blood an instant before he tore his arm away from her teeth. Her balance faltered as he shifted away ever so slightly, but then he was back, his arms curling around her, lifting her off her feet. Momentarily disoriented, she gripped him, closing her eyes tightly and feeling movement without watching. That sensation...it was brutal and glorious and so delicately perfect all at the same time. She kept her eyes closed even as she felt Jesse sit, drawing her onto his lap and cradling her close. Rachel didn't want to think about the implications of what had just happened, and she tried valiantly to push all of those thoughts out of her head. This wasn't a good thing by any stretch of the imagination. She hadn't thought about anything except winning her competition with Jesse, but now that she could think more clearly, there was one big problem that loomed large in her mind.

Finn. Oh, god, _Finn._

Rachel burst into tears.

"Shh, sweetheart," Jesse said, his voice smooth as silk. It was immensely soothing, and she desperately wanted to be comforted by it. "Hush, Rachel, there's no need to cry." He smoothed a hand through her hair, just like he'd done back when they were dating. "It was a foregone conclusion. We're meant to be together, and you can try to deny it all you want, but you're only hurting yourself in the struggle. I've accepted the inevitability of us—it's why I came back. For _you_, Rachel. And I get it—I screwed up when I left you. Maybe you're not ready yet to let yourself love me again, or even forgive me, but you can't deny what your body craves." A hint of dark promise crept into his voice, once again sending shivers down her spine. "I saw it in your eyes last year—so innocent on the surface, how you watched me, but I could see what lay beneath, even then."

"You never tried again," Rachel muttered, refusing to look him in the eyes, staring instead at his hand resting over hers. His forearm was a mess—raised red marks and indentations of her teeth, not to mention the puncture marks, still wet and raw, where she'd broken skin. A red-purple bruise was already forming around the crescent shape her mouth had left. For some reason, seeing the wound made her feel ever so slightly better. "After I said I wouldn't sleep with you because we were competitors, you joined McKinley, but you didn't ever try to touch me like that again."

"No," Jesse agreed, "I didn't. By then I knew the endgame of Shelby's plan, and I decided I couldn't do that to you. You'd have regretted it, and I didn't want your first time to be tainted."

"I thought you'd decided you didn't want me...like that," she whispered. It had been a constant puzzle, and one she'd kept to herself. Throughout Jesse's tenure at McKinley, he hadn't once tried to do more than some light making out in her room, never again pushing for sex. She'd thought that maybe she had scolded too harshly and he wasn't interested anymore, and she had to admit that even now it stung a little.

"Not want you?" He snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. I've wanted you from the moment I first saw you. You know I was at your Sectionals competition last year. Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to find a dark corner backstage and fuck you senseless?"

Rachel shivered. It...did something to her when he talked like that. She couldn't explain it, but she couldn't deny it either, any more than she could deny the fact that no matter what her mind said, her body _did_ want him. Saying no to Finn was easy—putting off what felt like the inevitable, an awkward and embarrassing first time for both of them, which wasn't an experience she was necessarily looking forward to. But Jesse...Jesse had always been different. It was incredibly soothing, incredibly delicious, to sit wrapped in his arms, his scent clinging to her hair and skin, swirling around the both of them.

"You don't have to decide anything right now," Jesse said softly. "In fact, I don't want you to. It's too soon." They were in the bedroom, on the giant four-poster bed. Jesse was sitting up against the headboard, and he stroked her wrist gently with his finger. "I get that you need time. That's one of the reasons I bought you—to give you time."

"You didn't buy me," Rachel objected, though she knew she was on shaky ground here. "I'm not for sale."

"Twenty-two hundred dollars says you are." The faintly mocking undertone was back in Jesse's voice, and Rachel scowled. But the happy post-orgasmic chemicals were still flowing through her system, making it impossible to work herself up into a proper temper. "It's really a matter of semantics," he continued, "but I'll modify the wording if it makes you feel better. I've purchased time with you, and the right to request tasks of you. Is that more palatable?"

"Sort of," Rachel said. "If I'd known it was you, I wouldn't have come at all."

"I know it. Why do you think I sent Chris?" Jesse linked their fingers. "Except, you don't know the lengths to which I was prepared to go."

"What does that mean?" Rachel asked uncertainly. "This doesn't make any sense, Jesse. What is it that you want from me? You don't love me—you can't!"

"Why can't I?"

"Because you cracked an _egg_ on my head!" she snapped, struggling to pull away from his lap.

His arms tightened, holding her where she was. "Let's not get into another power struggle just yet, shall we?" he said dryly.

"Why not?" Rachel couldn't help feeling the slightest bit bitter, and she thought it probably leaked over into her voice as well. "You've still got a perfectly good, unbitten arm."

"And you, as a woman, are capable of achieving multiple orgasms," Jesse shot back. "Don't push me." His perfect pink lips turned up in a devilish smile. "Unless that's what you want."

Rachel remained silent.

He sighed and loosened his arms again. "I do love you," he said, "though, I'll admit, you have little cause to believe me right now. That's what this week is for. I want to help you with two things, Rachel. Yes, I want to try to make you understand how much you mean to me. Ultimately, I want you to ditch Bigfoot and come back to me. But I realize that's not a realistic goal right now, in this moment, and I have another one, anyway."

"What's the other one?" Rachel asked uneasily. The mention of Finn had reminded her of the truth of her reality, not this fairy tale Jesse was again weaving around her. She had to keep that reality lodged firmly in her mind, because the fantasy of Jesse was too dangerous and too unrealistic to believe in.

Jesse cocked his head to the side, affecting a listening posture. Rachel opened her ears to the ambient sound of the condo and realized that the soundtrack to Phantom of the Opera was still quietly playing—_Angel of Music_ at the moment. "I don't mess around with music," Jesse said, his voice low and seductive with a risky sort of promise. "When I sing or play something, I mean it. Let me be your phantom for the week. Let me coach you—let me help you."

"Vocal lessons?" Rachel said doubtfully. Jesse was unquestionably talented and he'd learned from the best, no matter how much she disliked admitting it. But she wasn't sure he was ready to jump right into being a vocal coach.

"Partially, if you like," Jesse said. "Your voice is marvelous and you deserve nothing but the best. I'm not there yet, but I'll do my utmost." He paused. "More than that, we're going to work on your transformation."

"Transformation?" Rachel wasn't sure she liked the sound of that.

He nodded decisively. "It's already started, though you don't realize it yet. You didn't know it, but I actually had two cronies in the audience last night."

'You did?" Rachel frowned. "Why?"

"To bid against each other," Jesse said smugly, "if necessary. I was determined to win you, you see, but also to drive your price up as high as possible."

"Why on earth would you do that?" Rachel demanded. It made no sense at all. He was crazy. "You could have swiped me up at a bargain-basement price."

"No." Jesse shook his head, his voice sharp. "Because you, Rachel Berry, are not a bargain-basement commodity, and it's time that all of the Lima Losers at McKinley figured that out. That slimy little Jewfro made it so my guys didn't have to bid each other up, but they were prepared for it to fall out that way." His arms tightened around her again, and an ironic smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "How was I to know that you'd gone all naughty schoolgirl on me, helping things along?"

"But I don't..." Rachel trailed off. She wasn't entirely sure she understood what he was trying to tell her.

"You are precious, and special, and I can't stand to see the way they mistreat you at that school. Since I know you have no interest in transferring, even with Shelby gone, this is the next best option. Nobody bothered you while we were dating—they didn't dare. But I _know_ that the minute I left McKinley, things went back to business as usual. Slushies in the face. Getting slammed into lockers. Nasty notes hidden in your things, and don't get me started on the commentary on the walls in the boys' bathroom." His face tightened again, pulling inward, eyes darkening with a cold, controlled anger that was more frightening than any explosive rage would be. "Well, no more. Christine Daae not only received music lessons from her phantom, but was transformed from a lowly chorus girl into a prima donna. If you give me just a little bit of trust, and time to earn more, we can do that, too. Finn doesn't have the juice to keep you from being harassed, and you know it. Let me help you, Rachel."

It was such a tempting offer. He wasn't asking for anything except what he'd paid for, after all—her time. Would that really be so awful? Plus, it wasn't like she'd actually have to take his advice, although she had to admit that his initial plan was genius. People _were_ looking at her differently, and not just because she was showing more skin. They were wondering about her, and about why a guy had been willing to spend over two grand on the pleasure of her company. No one had thrown a slushie on her today, either, and she considered that progress.

But then she remembered just what had happened when she entered his condo today, and she blanched. "You hit me," she accused, feeling heat bloom across her face. "How am I supposed to trust someone who hits?"

"You hit me first," Jesse said with a shrug. His eyes were amused, though his mouth was firm. "With a closed fist, I might add. I spanked you. _Entirely_ different. Speaking of which..." He pulled on her hand, the one she'd used to hit him, and examined it carefully. Rachel watched him turn her hand over, frowning in concentration at her skin. Her first two knuckles were red and a little swollen, and the joint of her thumb ached. He wiggled her thumb back and forth gently, and she winced. "I thought so," he said. "You hit me with your thumb tucked inside your fist, didn't you?"

Rachel frowned. She had no idea—she'd just hauled back and hit him, never mind _how_. She made a fist again, trying not to think about it, and yes, her thumb ended up tucked up under her folded fingers.

"Never hit anything or anyone like that," Jesse cautioned. He kissed her red knuckles. "You're lucky you didn't break your thumb. Always like this." He folded her fingers down, then crossed her thumb over the top. "If you're going to go around socking people, at least learn to do it correctly."

"Did I hurt you?" Rachel asked, releasing her fist and touching her fingers against his jaw.

"Yes, in fact." He pulled her hand away.

"Good. I was mad."

"Watch it, Rachel." His eyebrow lifted as he released her hand. "If you hit, I _will_ spank you again."

"You have no right!" she snapped.

"You had no right to hit me first." He raised a finger and touched her lip, and instantly her attention was focused, as if he'd snapped his fingers in front of her face. "I will never strike in anger, or with a fist, or _first_. But if you choose to use violence to express yourself, I'm going to retaliate right on your ass. I know you're angry, and you get frustrated, and I understand that you're the kind of person who sometimes gets overwhelmed by emotion. You're going to have to learn a more adult way to handle it, though. You can't go around biting people who piss you off."

Rachel made a face at him. She didn't normally bite people—or hit them. Okay, maybe she'd slapped Finn a time or two, but she felt utterly justified about that. Jesse, though...he got under her skin in a way nobody else ever had. He was able to take her from pleasure to fury in nanoseconds, and she had no good explanation as to why.

"Throw things, slam the door, take up kickboxing—these are all wonderful outlets for that infamous Rachel Berry temper," Jesse added. "Angry sex is even better, and for that I'll gladly volunteer. But no. More. Hitting. Got it?"

Rachel decided that not answering was better than giving an answer one or both of them was going to regret. She suspected that Jesse did not mistake her silence for acquiescence—he'd always been smart—but was instead letting it slide.

"Come on," he said instead, "you can have some ice for your thumb while I start dinner."

Jerking her head to the window, Rachel realized that the sky was, indeed, rapidly darkening. With a little yelp, she yanked out her phone and turned it on.

"What's the matter?" Jesse asked, sounding amused as he slipped his hands under her arms and lifted her off his lap.

"I told Finn to call out the guard if he didn't hear from me in an hour," Rachel said as she waited impatiently for her phone to cycle through the welcome screen. "What time is it?"

"It doesn't matter," Jesse said calmly. "Your beanstalk won't be worried."

Rachel bristled. She knew Jesse didn't like Finn, but she didn't like the constant insults. "How do you know?"

"Because," he said, taking her hand and leading her into the kitchen, "it's barely been an hour, and he's at football practice, anyway."

Right. Football. Rachel grimaced, though Jesse thankfully didn't question her on that. She hopped up on the granite countertop as Jesse handed her a blue ice pack before starting to pull things out of various cupboards. Multi-colored veggie pasta appeared, and olive oil and eggplant, and an unlabeled jar of chunky tomato sauce that looked suspiciously like it was homemade. It was all dreadfully domestic, and for a terrifying instant, everything in her world seemed to snap into place. The loose, relaxed feeling of her body after both an orgasm and a good cry. The warm, beautiful interior of Jesse's condo, and his shape in her vision, confident and at-home in the kitchen, cooking a meal they could share together. It was so perfect, so _right_, that it scared the shit out of her.

"What about Finn?" she said abruptly, resting the sore joint of her thumb against the blue ice.

Jesse was silent for a moment, and Rachel watched as he set a pan on the flat cooktop, twirled a knob, and turned to her. He slipped between her dangling legs, sliding his arms carefully around her. "Right now?" he asked. "Or ultimately?"

"Both." The feel of him, steady and warm, was intoxicating. She hadn't forgotten that in their time apart, but the reality was so much stronger than the memory. When he was so close to her, it took literally all of her willpower to think of anything but his tantalizing proximity.

"For now," Jesse said, his eyes traveling over her face with a lingering gaze she could feel against her skin, "you'll have to make that decision on your own. In the end, you'll be mine. You already are, but like I told you before, I'm willing to wait for you to realize it. But in the meantime? All I can say is that I plan to monopolize your after-school hours this week, so get used to not seeing him much."

"He has football practice almost every day anyway," Rachel muttered, glancing away.

"Hey." Jesse caught her chin in a firm hand and turned her face toward him. "That kind of bitterness isn't like you. I know it's not just the time his football schedule takes, because you never complained about my dance and vocal practices."

Rachel shrugged. She wasn't interested in rehashing the whole problem with her ultimatum, especially not with Jesse. Hearing an _I told you so_ in his infuriatingly superior tone really wasn't on her list of favorite things.

But, oh, his hands were. He was currently running them up and down her sides in long, slow strokes, and she almost felt like purring. She'd missed this—missed the constant, small touches, and the way it felt when he reached for her, like she was something desirable, and worth having. Finn didn't touch her like that. He wouldn't drop her hand if she took his, but he never initiated the contact. She remembered all too well the feeling of walking down the halls of McKinley tucked under Jesse's arm, warm and firm, and how nobody insulted her, or pushed her into lockers, or threw things at her, when he was around. He had been like a magic forcefield or a security blanket, something to keep her safe and comforted when she needed it most. She'd missed that—more than she'd been willing to admit even to herself.

"He doesn't deserve you, Rachel." Jesse's voice was firm. "I don't either, but I'm a damn sight better than him."

"He'd never touch me like...like _that_," Rachel snapped, irritated at the constant harping on Finn. "Not pinned up against a wall! Not without my permission."

"I had permission," Jesse said, and his voice shifted. That hard note of granite was still there in the undertone, but a silky covering cushioned the blow. "If you hadn't wanted it on some level, you would have stopped biting me. Make no mistake—I will push you, but that doesn't mean I don't respect you." His arms slid lower, his hands curling around the sides of her hips. "You and Finn manipulate each other, always unsure of where you stand, always trying to gain the upper hand. It's not a partnership, because you aren't equals. He's popular and you're not. You've got the strong personality he lacks. When they say opposites attract, they're not talking about you and Finn. There's a fundamental truth that you're missing with him. Besides chemistry, that is."

"We don't lack chemistry!"

"You do," Jesse said with a smile. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be so desperate for _my_ touch." He held up a finger when she tried to argue. "Don't lie to me; I know you are." His hands tightened around her, his arms squeezing her dangling legs closer around him. "You were so wet when I slid my hand under your skirt. You probably didn't notice, but you stopped struggling against me the minute I touched you there."

"I—" Rachel didn't know what to say. She _hadn't_ realized. The sensation of being close to Jesse, his hand touching her so intimately, had been overwhelming and she hadn't noticed anything else.

"I'll do it again, if you like," he murmured, his hands slipping up the outside of her thighs, thumbs stroking her soft skin. "As often as you please." He flashed her a devilish smile. "And more."

"No!" she protested, shifting uneasily on the counter. The granite was cold on her legs, but Jesse was warm. The liquid burn had started deep inside the moment he looked at her with that dark promise heavy in his eyes. But she couldn't give in—not again, not like this. Already she was in far too deep, and there was Finn to think of. Finn, her boyfriend. Finn, who she had promised never to break up with. Jesse wasn't to be trusted. Maybe Finn wasn't as smooth, but he'd never double-cross her as Jesse had. "Don't touch me!"

"You wouldn't be saying that if Finn wasn't in the picture." Jesse didn't release her, but he didn't move his hands from the outside of her thighs. "You want me. You're just afraid to admit it, and what it means." He leaned forward, brushing his nose along the delicate shell of her ear, making her shiver. "I can give you what he can't, Rachel. Make you drown in pleasure—drown in me."

"No," she repeated, even as his hands moved slowly, inching higher on her legs. "I don't trust you."

"Not with your heart," Jesse agreed. "Not yet. But I won't harm your body, and I think you know that." His hands moved, finding the curve of her bare bottom as she sat on the countertop.

"You hit me!" she reiterated.

"I spanked you. I told you before, it's not the same thing at all." He traced his nose along the line of her jaw, breathing softly against her skin. "Some women even like it. I'd certainly be interested in seeing if you're one of them."

"I should have known you'd be the kind to get off on hitting girls," Rachel snapped, pushing at him. But he didn't move away, and he only chuckled at her angry words.

"If they like it, then yes, a red ass can be incredibly hot. But I have no wish to abuse anyone, particularly you." He pulled back slightly, studying her eyes. "Perhaps a safety mechanism might be in order, to make you feel better."

Rachel watched him cautiously, not entirely sure what he was talking about.

"A word," he clarified, and the way he was watching her, his pale eyes so intense, made her shiver. "A get-out-of-jail-free card, if you will. You can say it if something gets to be too much, and you need me to stop."

"That's what _no_ means," Rachel said, scowling.

"That's what it's supposed to mean," Jesse corrected. "In reality, _no_ means a variety of different things. I'm not so unenlightened as to try to convince you that _no_ really means _yes_, but I will suggest that there can be a plethora of connotations. To that end, a different word seems in order."

"What word?" Rachel asked doubtfully.

Jesse stopped talking for a moment, and the sound of soft music filtered back into Rachel's ears. He had a way of blocking out everything else, even music, when he wanted to. _All I Ask of You_ was now playing, and an ironic smile slipped across Jesse's beautiful face. "Raoul," he said. "Raoul is your safe word."

Rachel swallowed as she considered. It was a loaded choice, and one she wasn't likely to forget. If Finn was Raoul in Jesse's twisted version of _Phantom_, then calling his name as a way to stop Jesse's actions was a clear choice—a decisive action that she knew would have far-reaching implications for her and for the boys as well. By picking such a word, Jesse was warning her not to use it lightly.

But what did it mean, really? If she said it now, while he was still gripping her bare bottom but not specifically trying to molest her, would he release her? For good, or just for the moment? The night? Would he let her walk out that door, no questions asked? Would he still expect her to come back? Rachel didn't know, but she also didn't want to ask. She badly wanted the answers, but Jesse had always held the upper hand with her and she was a little cowed by the way he was acting. Maybe she'd ask later. Right now, she didn't quite dare.

And yet, she wasn't afraid of him. He'd been right when he said she wasn't afraid of being hurt—not physically. Yes, he'd struck her. No, she hadn't particularly liked it, but she _had_ hit him first, and he was sporting quite the wound, while she was positive there wasn't even a trace of a bruise on her backside. She severely doubted she'd ever like being struck, no matter what Jesse said about other women, but he hadn't hurt her. Not really.

"I have to say," Jesse said, a smile still lingering around the corners of his mouth, "I didn't expect what I found under your skirt. Or, rather, what I _didn't_ find."

Rachel frowned at him. "It was your stupid task!"

"I told you to _ask_ about it," he corrected, and he moved his hand, sliding around her leg before she could protest. His hand was there again, stroking her bare folds, his fingers achingly gentle against the tender flesh. "Softer than silk," he whispered, his mouth hovering near her ear. "So sexy. But I wouldn't have ordered you to do it—I just wanted to tease you, and maybe get you thinking about the option. Taking control of your sexuality—making the choice about what to do with the private parts of your body—can be incredibly freeing. I want that for you, want your inhibitions lowered and your comfort level raised. Celibacy is all well and good, but not out of fear or lack of knowledge."

Rachel's first instinct when his hand moved was to kick him, but his hand was stroking her again before she could react, and by then it was far too late to do anything but surrender. She was wet—he'd been right about that, as he was about so many things—and she shuddered around him as he stroked through the slickness between her legs. Her defenses evaporated with that one touch as if they had never existed, and she exhaled a long, shaky breath. He slid his free hand around the small of her back, urging her to lie back against the counter, and she obeyed after only a moment's hesitation. No matter what else she might think or feel about him, she couldn't deny that her body responded to his as it did to no other. He kissed down her clothed front, from the juncture of her ribs to the quivering concavity of her stomach, moving his free hand from the curve of her back to slip under her skirt, flipping it up and exposing her bare mound to the air. She hesitated, her mind halting over the word to tell him to stop, but his head lowered and he licked her before she could say anything.

And oh, that feeling made the rest of her mind blank. She only vaguely felt his hands pressing her open, urging her knees to fold over his shoulders, his breath hot on her inner thigh. All she felt was that perfect sensation as he put his mouth on her flesh again. Rachel _wanted_ to be embarrassed—embarrassed that his face was _right there_, all up in her business, but she couldn't do it. It felt too fucking good. She'd honestly never dreamed of wanting this, feeling like it would probably squick her out too much, but she'd also never dreamed that it would feel like _this_. Liquid heat, sweet fire, delicate and firm as he swirled his tongue through her, up and over her clit, her body clenching, tensing, flowing like water around him. He had a particular technique, a twisting lave with his tongue, that sent her ricocheting higher, her senses reeling. Her teeth weren't clamped around his arm this time, his skin and muscle muffling her sounds, and she heard herself whimpering and gasping, unintelligible sounds escaping her mouth that she had absolutely no control over.

"I told you your body wants me," he murmured, his voice sending delicious vibrations deep into her as he spoke against her skin. He mouthed her clit, lips and tongue running over the horribly sensitive nub, as if memorizing its shape and feel. She was incoherent and whimpering, head thrown back against the granite countertop, her arms at her sides. He slipped his left hand under her leg, thrown over his shoulder, and took her hand, linking their fingers and squeezing. It was, in a strange way, the most intimate touch of the entire evening, Rachel thought. It wasn't just about sex—it was a reminder that he was here with her, all of him, his entire mercurial self, and she wasn't alone in the wash of sensation flowing through her. He was doing this to her, but he wasn't some far-removed, external entity. He was sharing the experience with her, all of it, every moment.

That thought pushed her higher, to the brink of the precipice, and she felt her body clamping down, tightening in preparation for that exquisite rush of pleasure she knew was coming. She tightened her hand in Jesse's, squeezing hard, as if warning him that release was imminent.

Suddenly his hands moved, pulling away from her grip. He grasped her inner thighs, pulling them off his shoulders and spreading her wide, shifting his mouth away from her flesh so she could still feel his breath but not his lips. She cried out at the denial, just at the moment when she wanted—_needed_—release the most, and her hand reached involuntarily for him.

"Tell me you want me," he ordered, his voice hard and adamant. "Tell me you want it, and you can have it."

She writhed, though he was still holding her open and down, frustration almost boiling over as her body throbbed, demanding touch, heat, pressure, _now_. So close to perfection, and now he was asking her to talk?

"Jesse, please," she whimpered, her hand still reaching for his. He let her find it, curling his fingers around hers and stroking the inside of her wrist with a slow, seductive movement.

"Please what?" he prompted. "Tell me what you want, and I'll gladly do it."

"P-put your mouth on me again," she panted. "Please, Jesse, I need you to - "

"Yes," he said, lowering his mouth to speak against her flesh, "you do. Finn can't give you this feeling. Be honest—you don't even want him to." He didn't give her time to either agree or argue, shifting his right hand to push two fingers carefully inside her even as his mouth returned to her clit, licking and sucking in time with the slow strokes of his fingers, in and out, reaching deep, curving up to hit a spot that made her cry out with pleasure. His hands were bigger than hers, and far more skilled. She knew her body because she lived in it, but he knew it because he was good at this and had had plenty of practice, of that she had no doubt. But then his tongue swept over her clit again in that tantalizing, twisting stroke just as he pushed up inside her with his fingers, pressing perfectly, and she exploded around him, her legs trying to close of their own volition as she writhed and panted on the countertop, incoherent words and even an expletive or two falling from her lips. He stayed with her, drawing her orgasm from her body and wringing every last drop of pleasure from her body that he possibly could, stopping only when she became too sensitive in the aftermath and pulled away.

He nibbled softly on her inner thigh before moving from his spot, lifting her off the cold granite and again into his arms. She felt loose and wobbly, as if her joints had been replaced by Jell-O, and she didn't protest the proprietary way he held her, as if he had a right to. They settled on the cream-colored couch, Jesse still wrapped around her, and Rachel closed her eyes, savoring the way her body felt and studiously trying to keep thoughts of Finn and her betrayal at bay.

They sat for a while, one song flowing into the next, the story of Andrew Lloyd Webber's iconic musical unfolding around them. Jesse had the soundtrack on shuffle, so songs came randomly, the emotion somehow less urgent and dire without the building tension of the story, each song a little island of its own, just like she and Jesse were in this moment, wrapped around each other, as if nothing and no one else mattered.

And, just for a moment, it seemed as if that were true. She could feel his heartbeat, fast and strong, and she could smell both him and her own self, a heady and potent combination. He was so beautiful that it gave her a little thrill every time she looked at him, even now. And the feel of him pressed against her, curled around her as if protecting her from everything bad in the world, was too tempting by far. "Jesse," she murmured, just because she wanted to hear his name.

His arms tightened around her in answer. "I'm right here," he said, and it sounded suspiciously like a vow. "I'll always be right here."

But just at that moment, the angry hissing sound of a pot boiling over reached their ears, and Jesse sighed against her hair. He squeezed her gently before shifting their bodies, moving her to the side so he could slip out from behind her. The moment was shattered as he hurried to the kitchen to turn the burner down, and Rachel watched as he moved around on the other side of the counter, a brisk efficiency to his gestures as he resumed their interrupted meal preparation.

Rachel hung back for a moment, chewing a little on her lower lip as she waited on the couch. Twice now he had accosted her with his body, cultivating a purely physical desire that she had no ability to resist. Part of her resented this easy knack of his, and how quickly he could overwhelm her objections, turning her into a mess of desire. Finn didn't have that knack. Hell, even Puck hadn't been able to talk her into more than some light making out. He was the undisputed stud of the school, and she had honestly wondered for a while if her near-indifference to him heralded something direly wrong with her sexuality.

Then Jesse had come along, and she'd learned very quickly both that she did indeed have a libido, and that it wasn't to be trusted. Lo and behold, that was still how she felt now. Her body wanted Jesse—craved him. That wasn't in dispute, and he'd proved his point twice today. She was powerless to resist him when he touched her like that.

But chemistry meant nothing without trust, and she couldn't trust Jesse. Not with her heart or her future. He was dangerous, and always had been. The beautiful fantasy he offered was too tempting by far, and it wasn't real. This condo, and the boy in it—it was less real and less to be trusted than his fictional counterpart currently crooning through the iPod. The phantom was untouchable, like smoke, disappearing and reappearing at will, though he did turn out to be human. Jesse was flesh and blood—a much more visceral sort of ghost, as Rachel knew all too well. His lure was that much more dangerous as a result. She _wanted_ him, but she couldn't forgive him, and that was no basis for a relationship. Besides, she wasn't even sure that he wanted a relationship. Despite his sweet words, she couldn't help but feel that he had to have an ulterior motive. Past experience left her somewhat jaded when it came to Jesse—not to mention Shelby—and she didn't know if she could ever get past that enough to trust him, no matter what he said.

And yet she wanted to.

Part of her very much wanted to be able to trust him again, as if his betrayal and defection back to Vocal Adrenaline had never happened. But she wasn't that naive anymore, and she couldn't make herself do it.

She couldn't make herself stop wanting to, either.

Slowly she rose, unable to sit with her own thoughts anymore. She padded to the kitchen, leaning on the counter and watching Jesse slice rounds off a dark purple eggplant. He looked up and caught her eye, wordlessly passing her several cloves of garlic and a knife. She chopped carefully, not at all wanting to nick her fingers, feeling again that terrifying _rightness_ slip over her, as it had when they first entered the kitchen. Something so horribly domestic had to be frightening, didn't it? Because it assumed a level of comfort with each other that Rachel wasn't ready to acknowledge, and she disliked being forced into things, _especially_ by fate.

But as Jesse swirled olive oil around a cold pan and she added the minced garlic, waiting to hear it sizzle as the pan heated, she was fairly sure that one way or another, this was going to change everything.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Wow, you guys are awesome! I'll respond to reviews in the next few days, but I thought you might rather have the next chapter. ;-) This chapter's Jesse is a little less dark and a little more sweet, but we'll see his darker side come back, no worries!_

_Happy New Year! My resolution? More hot St. Berry moments!_

* * *

><p><strong>Dare<strong>

Later, dishes piled in the sink—Jesse had refused to let her help wash them, saying again that her pseudo-slavery wasn't about mundane tasks—they settled on the couch, Rachel carefully attempting to keep her distance. Jesse's touch was too dangerous; it made her want things she knew she shouldn't want, and she needed to keep her wits about her if she was going to resist at all.

He didn't object, and when she called him on it, Jesse merely chuckled.

"I'm not here to force you to do anything," he said, "even touch me. What purpose would it serve? I want your heart, Rachel, and brute force isn't going to get me that."

"You forced me to stay," she said, picking nervously at the seam of the couch. "I was going to leave."

Jesse cocked his head to the side, watching her with his unnervingly candid blue gaze. "You were angry and hurt enough that you might well have left," he agreed, "but you would have questioned your actions—regretted it, even, maybe. Whether you like it or not, I did buy a certain amount of your time, and I insist on getting what I paid for. But that's not the same as force."

Rachel raised a skeptical eyebrow, which only made his smile grow.

"What?" he asked with a laugh. "Did you expect me to tie you to the bed? _That_ kind of force?" He shook his head. "I will if you want me to, but not without consent. Besides, I don't need to restrain you to get at your body. The minute I touch you, you're like putty in my hands."

Rachel reddened, trying to keep an unhappy scowl on her face. It was true, and she hated it. Hated how easily he could turn her liquid and pliant, all of her anger evaporating for that small amount of time he held her body captive, drowning in the pleasure he was so adept at bringing her. "It's not fair!" she snapped.

"Maybe not," Jesse said with a shrug, "but that's the way it is. There are some things, Rachel, that it's useless to fight. You can throw yourself against the wall all you like, but it's never going to give."

"And you're the wall?" Rachel said bitterly.

"No." Jesse's voice was smooth, a gentle sweetness filtering in and replacing the mocking quality from earlier. "I'm on your side, sweetheart. Maybe the only person in the world, besides your dads, who is. I'd protect you from that wall if I could, but I can't do anything if you insist on throwing yourself at it."

Rachel wasn't entirely sure she understood his metaphor, but she kept it to herself. It would give her something to mull over tonight when she couldn't sleep.

"Now." Jesse shifted on the couch, and just that simple motion snapped her attention back to him, as if he had reached for her. "I want you to tell me about this new look of yours."

"The bangs?" Rachel said innocently, though she knew that wasn't what he was asking. "I thought they made me look older."

"They do," he said with a chuckle, "but you know that's not what I asked." He leaned forward just enough to slide a single finger along the hem of her short, pleated skirt. "It's funny, because you wore short skirts before. The switch from innocent schoolgirl to naughty really didn't take all that much change, did it?" He cocked his head to the side. "Or, not physically, anyway. It's all about the attitude."

"I...never thought about it like that." Rachel rubbed a fold of her cardigan between her fingers, considering. Yes, she was definitely showing more skin in this outfit, but the general premise was still the same as her old wardrobe. So what was the difference, really? Did Jesse have it right? Was her attitude—the willingness to embrace a sort of sultriness—the real difference?

"Tell me why, Rachel," he said, and though his voice was soft, there was a definite note of command to it. "What happened?"

She exhaled slowly, watching his hand resting on the cushion between them. He did not attempt to touch her again, and she was glad of that. His hands were too distracting, and they held hostage her ability to do anything but surrender. "Britney Spears," she admitted, "and a new dentist."

"This I've got to hear."

She made a face at him. "He's Miss Pillsbury's new boy-toy, and he came to talk to us about proper dental hygiene. Of course, I didn't need the reminder, but apparently some of the other kids in the club did."

"Why would a dentist be lecturing to a high school glee club?"

Rachel shrugged. "It has to do with Mr. Schue's jealousy, I'm positive. I just haven't figured out how, yet. I told you before that I'm a little psychic, right?"

"And I believe you," Jesse said with a smile. "Go on."

"Well, Kurt's been begging to do Britney Spears, and Mr. Schue is completely against the idea. He says she's a bad role model, and her music is too provocative."

"Valid points for a high school club. What's your opinion?"

Rachel felt a sudden upwelling of warmth flow through her at Jesse's words. He was the only one besides her dads who ever asked her opinion on anything—that was something she remembered well. Everyone else, even Finn, endeavored to keep her from voicing her thoughts. She knew that was part of the reason she was so loud and pushy sometimes; her therapist had explained that one quite succinctly. If she had more acceptance at school, if people respected her more and asked for her opinions from time to time, she wouldn't feel such a deep need to shout them so loudly and incessantly. Jesse had given her that, for the first time in her life. Hearing him do it again now, so familiar and easy, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, was slightly unsettling.

"I..." She cleared her throat, intent on hiding how much his question meant to her. "I think she's popular enough to warrant some attention from our club—in the spirit of musical inquiry, of course. I don't find her musical contributions particularly memorable or compelling, but I feel that way about a lot of popular artists, and I have no problem covering her if the rest of the club wants to."

"So her music wouldn't be your first choice, but you're willing to go along with the rest of the team?" Jesse smiled. "I'd like you to think about that statement for a minute, Rach. Your teammates really don't give you enough credit."

That renegade warmth in the pit of her stomach expanded at his words, no matter how much she tried to rein it in. "Jesse," she said quietly, "please, don't."

"It's a simple statement of fact." He shifted as if he wanted to reach for her, but he stopped himself. "Now, what does Britney have to do with your new look?"

"Other members of the club were having Britney dreams while under anesthesia at the dentist's office," Rachel said, smoothing down her skirt. "Of course, that's not why I went. I needed a cleaning anyway."

"Of course you did," Jesse said with a smile.

Rachel scowled at him. "It's true. But I did end up having a...very interesting dream, and it got me thinking."  
>"About trying out a new look?"<p>

She nodded. "It worked, too. The next day at school, it was like..." She shook her head. "I can't explain it."

Jesse's smile shifted, the mocking edge softening into understanding. "Nobody touched you."

"Yeah. The boys were all looking at me like they'd never seen me before. It was...flattering. Even Santana had something nice to say. But Finn hated it."

"I'm not surprised." Jesse moved again, and this time he did touch her, sweeping her hair behind her shoulder and tracing his fingers down her neck gently. "Come here." He found her hand and tugged.

Rachel hesitated. "You said you wouldn't force me."

"It's not force if you consent." He pulled again. "I won't hurt you, Rachel. You know that."

She did know that. Maybe she didn't know anything about his motivations, but she knew he wouldn't hurt her. Slowly she shifted, letting him draw her close on the cream-colored couch and slip his arms around her. They'd sat like this hundreds of times in the past, his body next to hers but also surrounding her, strong and sure, firm but also so gentle. His hand swept under the fall of her cardigan, settling against the top of her skirt.

"What did Finn say?" he asked, and Rachel had to forcibly pull her mind back to what they'd been discussing. When he touched her, it was as if all rational thought fled.

"He was all upset," she said, trying desperately not to concentrate on the feel of his hand against her hip. "He'd been kicked off the football team by the new coach—something having to do with Artie; he wouldn't tell me the whole story—and I'd told him I was happier with him off the team anyway."

"Why?"

"Because now I don't have to worry about him ending up like his paralyzed friend," Rachel said, "and because it's easier to be with him when he's not the star quarterback, you know? It's like he can't judge me as mu—" She snapped her mouth shut. How had that slipped out? Did she really feel judged by Finn? Because that wasn't...right, was it? To be afraid of being judged by her _boyfriend_? It was just some...some weird hypnosis thing that Jesse was able to do to her; it had to be. He'd forced the words out of her mouth; she didn't actually mean them. Right?

"Interesting," Jesse said, and his thumb moved lazily against her hip. "And somewhat understandable."

"...It is?"

"Of course. When you're so unpopular and he's the most popular guy in school, your relationship doesn't really make sense. But when he's brought down closer to your level, you feel more secure. But the flip side is that when your popularity rises, _he_ feels threatened."

Rachel reddened. Yes, that was exactly what had happened. "The first day I tried out my Britney-inspired look," she admitted, "I got upset when he didn't like it. I...kind of dared him. Told him he had my blessing to try to rejoin the football team if he could."

An amused snort escaped Jesse, and he tightened his arm around her. "I would have paid good money to see that."

"Yeah, well, it backfired on me," Rachel said bitterly, "because I decided to change back to my old clothes to make him feel more comfortable, but he went and rejoined the football team. I didn't even know that was possible, which is why I dared him to do it."

"Let me guess," Jesse said. "You didn't like things going back to the way it used to be, when he was the popular jock and you were nothing. You tried to change it again."

She nodded slowly. "I gave him an ultimatum. Told him to choose between me and football. Then, because I was so mad, I went back to my Britney clothes that I _know_ he can't stand."

Jesse did not laugh this time. Instead, he pinned her with an intense look that Rachel did not expect. "How did that feel?"

"What, are you my therapist now?" Rachel shoved his shoulder. It was so easy, falling back into the familiarity of their relationship; the way it had been before he ruined everything with a crushed egg and two songs by Queen.

"Humor me," he said, still not laughing. "Consider it one of your tasks for today, if you like."

"I like it, okay?" Rachel shifted in the curve of his arm. "I know I'm not usually the vindictive type, but it felt good to do something I knew he wouldn't like."

"My jaw begs to differ about the not being vindictive part," Jesse said, a faint smile curving his lips. "And I think it's healthy to speak your mind, even when the speaking is actually an action."

"I don't think I understand."

Jesse took her hand, linking their fingers. Rachel watched, and she couldn't help but feel a little thrill at how _right_ it felt when his hand slipped into hers. His long musician's fingers wove between hers, bigger and stronger but still so gentle. "When you went back to your Britney-inspired clothes after he ignored your ultimatum, you were telling him in no uncertain terms that you weren't going to let him dictate your clothing choices. Hudson's a moron and I can't promise he got the message, but to me it's crystal clear."

"As clear as you breaking an egg on my head," Rachel muttered.

Jesse's arm tightened around her, and before Rachel could tell him to let go, he had released her hand and shifted his grip. He grasped her upper arms in his hands, firm but not hard enough to leave marks, turning her to face him. "If you want to do this now, we can do it now," he said, his jaw tight and his face closed once more, the easy familiarity long gone. Rachel felt a shudder bleed up her spine. It was frightening, how quickly he could flit from one emotion to another—almost as quickly as she could. "Sweet girl, I know I hurt you. I'd like to pretend it was some...some evil twin or something, or I was possessed, or whatever. I can't, and we're both going to have to deal with the reality of our situation. I made a mistake and hurt you—possibly the biggest mistake of my life. And yes, I knew it was going to hurt you, and I did it anyway. It was premeditated, and even though it killed me to see you cry, I still went through with it."

"Why?" Rachel whispered. It was the one question she could no longer answer. At first, the "why" had seemed simple: he didn't truly love her. He didn't care about her. If he had, he wouldn't have been able to go through with it. But his reappearance in her life debunked that theory, if everything he'd said to her today was true. "Why did you do it?"

"Because I was angry," he said, "and stupid. You have no idea how much you hurt me with that stupid Run Joey Run video, Rachel. I was livid, and just like you want to hurt Finn for ignoring your ultimatum, I wanted to hurt you."

"I don't want to hurt him!" Rachel protested, pulling away from his hands. "I just...I wanted him to notice!" She hid her face in her hands, breathing deeply, forcing back frustrated tears. "Sometimes it's like I'm invisible even to him, and when I tried to go back to my old clothes _for_ him, he just..." She shook her head, feeling the unwelcome constriction in her throat that heralded another bout of crying. "But I didn't want to hurt him," she mumbled into her hands, still shaking her head slowly. "I'm not like you—not like Shelby. I don't _want_ to hurt people."

His arms were around her again, pulling her into his chest, and Rachel didn't know if she welcomed the touch or loathed it. This boy had promised her the world, and had broken every promise he'd ever made to her. Now he was back, and she really didn't know what to do anymore. She let him hold her because she didn't think she had the energy to fight him, wondering how she could possibly still feel soothed by his gentle hands. He stroked her hair and shoulders, long sweeps of his palms, his fingers brushing softly across the tender skin at the back of her neck.

"You do," he said, "in the heat of the moment. It's human nature, sweet girl. It's part of what makes us passionate. It's only logical to want to wound back when we've been wounded. I imagine the way you wanted to hurt Finn didn't compare to the amount of pain you wanted to cause me after I left you."

"I wanted you to be eaten by a lion," Rachel admitted. "But I didn't go to the zoo and abduct one!"

"You had no reasonable outlet for that desire," Jesse said. "You wanted to beat me at Regionals, and that would have made you feel better, but Vocal Adrenaline won. After that, you had no way to cause me pain—that you knew of, anyway—and you had to deal with that. But your problem now with Finn is easier. The emotions aren't as deep, though I understand that they're deep enough. You had an easy way to anger him as he's angered you, and you took it."

"I never thought about it that way." The words were grudging, but Rachel had always been good at giving other people their due, even when she didn't want to.

"Don't worry about it. It took me a while, too." Jesse held her carefully, his hands still tracing aimless patterns on her back. "And being angry doesn't excuse what I did—I don't want you to think I'm attempting to get out of it. I did hurt you, and I take responsibility for that. No matter what you did first, you didn't deserve what I put you through."

Rachel took a breath. At least they could agree on _that_.

"I know you don't trust me enough yet to believe me when I tell you it will never happen again," Jesse said. "All things in time."

_Could_ she ever trust him again? Rachel didn't know.

"We'll talk more about that later," he promised, and he shifted again so he could see her eyes. "For now, let's talk about tomorrow."

Rachel eyed him with a certain amount of trepidation. "Tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow," he said, looking amused. "You're mine for the week, and I intend to get what I paid for. Tasks and all." He paused and leaned toward her. "Make no mistake, if you don't come willingly I _will_ fetch you."

A little thrill ran down Rachel's spine, and she didn't know why. The dark promise in his voice told her he was serious. But what would that mean? Would he reveal himself—seek her out in public? At _school_? "You said no force," she protested, knowing it sounded weak even to her own ears.

"And I also said not to push me. You have an overdeveloped sense of duty, and I appeal to that, if nothing else. I paid for something, and if you avoid me, that's stealing. I don't believe you're a thief, and therefore that really should be the end of the conversation."

"That's pretty low, even for you."

Jesse didn't look chagrined at her insult; he merely shrugged. "You should know by now that I'm not some virtuous white knight. I will save you, though, if you'll let me."

"I don't need saving," Rachel said, shifting in his arms. "I'm not some damsel in distress, Jesse."

"I love when you say my name." He smiled. "You don't need to be a damsel in distress to warrant some saving, even at the hands of a black knight."

"So what sort of _saving_ are you planning?" Rachel asked dubiously.

"Just what I already promised you—your transformation from chorus girl to prima donna. And the best part is, we're not going to turn you into a mindless girl-clone to do it."

"I don't understand."

Jesse smiled. "Think about it. The girls you see on TV and the popular ones at school—they're all the same cookie-cutter image. Blond, if possible. Big boobs. The same slutty makeup, the same clothes, the same bitchy attitude with nothing in their heads to back it up. If you became one of them, you'd probably stop being harassed in the halls, sure. But you'd lose your fundamental self doing it. No—we're going to go with a different tactic. Something that will put you on the top without compromising the essence that is _you_."

Rachel shook her head slowly. She could do nothing but stare at him. Her entire _life_, practically, she had dreamed that such a thing were possible. But she'd never come up with a way to do it, and he was right: she wasn't willing to become one of those girl-clones, as he'd called them. The mean girls. The ones who all looked like each other and treated everyone else in the world like crap. "It's not possible," she said. "Not in high school. I have to wait until I get my chance at the stage; that's what my therapist has always said."

"Not to laugh in the face of hundreds of years of psychological theory, but your therapist is wrong." Jesse smiled. "Give me a little faith, and we'll do it. We'll turn you around so fast that all those sorry mouth-breathers at McKinley won't know what hit them. And we won't have to sacrifice your individuality to do it."

"I don't believe you," Rachel said. "It's not possible! The mob _hates_ individuality. That's why we're at the bottom of the heap in glee club."

"I'm going to prove you wrong." Jesse took her hand. "Tell me something—when you had your Britney dream and chose to change your clothes to look more sexy, did you feel like you were giving up part of yourself?"

"No," Rachel said easily. "It was my choice. I did it because I wanted to, and everyone's been agreeing with me that the change wasn't _that_ drastic. That it was still me, just with the volume turned up."

"And how did you feel when you went back to your old clothes to keep Finn happy?"

"Like I was doing it to keep him happy," Rachel said with a shrug. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Did it feel like you were changing yourself? Giving up?"

"Not...not exactly," she said, frowning thoughtfully. Her therapist never asked such difficult questions. "But still, I did it for him. Not for me."

"Which was the exact opposite of why you changed your clothes to begin with." Jesse's smile was encouraging. "Do you see the difference? You were willing to go back to your old clothes because you thought that was what Finn wanted, not because _you_ wanted to. You think you love him, so maybe the distinction doesn't feel as drastic. But how would you feel about changing your clothes because someone else—Quinn, or Artie—wanted you to?"

"I wouldn't do it," Rachel said firmly. "And if they tried to make me, I'd stage an uprising."

"Because you're secure in who you are," Jesse said triumphantly. "Your choices need to be your own, or else you'll become nothing but another girl-clone."

Rachel breathed deeply. He was right. She hadn't felt like she was compromising herself when she changed her look, because it had been her choice. She had _wanted_ to do it. Going back to her old clothes to make Finn feel better was exactly the opposite.

"So here's one of your tasks for tomorrow," Jesse said, smiling at her. "For the rest of the week, really. I want you to choose what _you_ want to wear. Don't think about Finn, or the rest of the student body. Pick what you want—what makes you feel good. And hell, if that's sweatpants and bunny slippers, go for it. Just do what feels right to _you_."

Rachel rested her head against his shoulder. "You don't really have this master/slave dynamic thing down very well," she muttered, "telling me to do what _I_ want."

Jesse's chuckle buzzed through her body just before he moved, pressing her to her back on the couch and sliding sensuously against her. "Would you prefer a more traditional arrangement?" he breathed against her neck, his body firm and hard, pressing hers into the cushions. "Demands made for my pleasure rather than yours?" He raised his head, a puckish smile hovering around the corners of his mouth. "We can do that. How about this task, then—you're not wearing underwear tonight, and I find I like it. For the rest of the week, while you choose your outer clothes as you wish, you're forbidden from wearing panties."

"What?" Rachel stared at him. "You can't!"

"Can't I?" Jesse moved his head back to her neck and bit softly. "Isn't that just what you asked for? Master's prerogative, remember?"

Rachel felt her equilibrium swimming, making her dizzy as he lifted her upright again. Her vision blurred, desire spilling into her system once more, and the one thing that remained sharply in-focus was the beautiful image of Jesse's face. It was so close to hers, his lips softly pink, his pale skin more than inviting. The chemistry between them had never been in doubt, even now when she was still deeply hurt and fairly furious at him. She couldn't deny it—couldn't deny wanting to feel again the touch of his mouth, how he claimed her every time he kissed her. It was a touch she craved, and Finn had never been able to hold a candle to Jesse's kisses. Even Puck, for all the experience he had, wasn't able to make her forget her own name with just a kiss.

"Why haven't you kissed me, Jesse?" she asked, her gaze darting between his mouth and his eyes. He'd kissed her hair, and her neck, and her sore thumb, but he hadn't come anywhere near her lips. Just mentioning something like his nontraditional master/slave dynamic was enough to get a reaction from him, and she was secretly hoping this would, too. She wanted that kiss—wanted it more than she was willing to admit to herself. One touch of his mouth, that perfect sensation of warm and wet, sweet and passionate... She yearned for it. Whatever else still lay between them, unanswered questions, un-dealt-with baggage, she _wanted_ his kiss.

He smiled, stroking one hand slowly through her hair, but the gesture was laced with a kind of aching sadness Rachel was unaccustomed to seeing from her cocky, self-assured phantom. "When you're ready," he said quietly, rubbing her cheek gently with the pad of his thumb, "you'll kiss me."

* * *

><p>Midnight.<p>

Rachel still couldn't sleep.

Jesse had sent her home around eight, telling her to return after school tomorrow. She'd spent the better part of the night in her room, ignoring her homework and staring at her closet, unable to figure out what to wear tomorrow. The first part of Jesse's edict seemed simple enough, but on further reflection, it was anything but. How was she supposed to choose what _she_ wanted to wear, not taking anyone else's opinions into account? She didn't even know if it was possible. When she wore more revealing clothes, wasn't that taking the opinion of the student body into account? Because she did it at least partially so she wouldn't get slushied or shoved in the halls? And if Jesse _told_ her to do it, wasn't that taking _his_ opinion into account, regardless? The catch-22 had made her head hurt, and she had gone to bed without a decision.

But now she couldn't sleep, and every minute that passed only ratcheted up the internal anxiety until she didn't know if she could bear to lie still a moment longer. Her mind was her own worst enemy sometimes, and tonight was one of those times. It wouldn't stop turning, wouldn't let her sleep. She needed to be able to talk to someone about this. Not the clothes, but the whole mess with Jesse.

Her phantom had turned out to be her ex-boyfriend, the one person she had given her heart to with no compunctions, and the boy who had broken it as if it meant nothing. He'd wounded her deeply, and the wounds were still fresh and raw. One shared evening couldn't fix that. Jesse sounded like he understood that she needed time, but he was so sure that she would choose him and she had to admit that that rankled. What if she didn't? What if she made up with Finn, instead? Finn was far from perfect, but as she'd told herself so many times before, he was her reality. He would never build castles in the air with her, only to let them come crashing down to earth. Finn was far too practical for that. He was safer, too. The highs of their relationship weren't as high, but that also meant the lows weren't as devastating. She could survive another breakup or three with him, she was fairly sure. With Jesse? Not even close.

So maybe it was best, despite her "overdeveloped sense of duty," as Jesse put it, not to go back. To cut him out of her life now, before he had the chance to hurt her again. Whatever he wanted, which she still wasn't clear on, it didn't matter. What he'd done before was irrevocable. His promises that they could turn her from a nothing to a queen bee in a week were just that—promises. Empty ones, if his track record was to be believed.

But she needed—desperately _needed—_to be able to talk to someone about this. Sitting with her own thoughts was unbearable. Part of her wanted nothing more than to crawl into her fathers' bed as she'd done when she was small and afraid of the dark, but she was far too old for that now. Besides, she wasn't afraid of nebulous monsters anymore. She was afraid of something far more real, and far more terrifying.

Unable to stay in bed with her thoughts anymore, Rachel bolted. If her dads were still awake, they'd understand. They had to. She stuffed her feet into a pair of sneakers, pulled a light sweatshirt over her tank top, grabbed her keys, and left.

The Berry driveway sloped gently down to the street, so releasing the parking brake and coasting out of the drive before turning on the car was easy enough. Rachel drove aimlessly for a while, not sure where she wanted to go. She didn't have any girlfriends she could confide in, since the people she was closest to were in the glee club and they all hated Jesse's guts. If she even so much as breathed a word of this, her entire world could self destruct. In that sense, Jesse did in fact have the power to absolutely ruin her life even now, when she desperately did not want to give him that opportunity.

But she was desperately lonely, desperately in need of a little comfort, and without really realizing what she was doing, Rachel found herself pulling alongside the curb near the tiny house Finn shared with his mother. The main rooms were dark, but his tiny window was bright with the shifting light that meant he was either watching TV or playing video games. She breathed a sigh of relief, trying to gain comfort from that little swatch of light. Finn didn't follow the sort of rigorous self-care schedule she did, with a regular bedtime, diet, and exercise routine, but tonight she was grateful for that fact. He was her boyfriend. Maybe she couldn't tell him the truth, but she could ask him for comfort, right? That's what he was for, wasn't it?

Slowly she got out of the car, trying to close the door as quietly as possible. Finn lived in a close-knit neighborhood, and any skulking around at midnight would cause a stir. She crept across the lawn, hands thrust deep in the pockets of her sweatshirt, wishing desperately for a pair of warm arms and a sympathetic ear. Even though they were fighting, Finn would provide that. She was sure of it. Because he understood her, didn't he? He'd been there while she picked up the pieces of herself after Jesse's betrayal. He'd taken her back, and their fight now was just transitory. It would pass.

She tapped on the window, smiling a little as his face, scrunched into his trademark video-game scowl, came into view. The sound was muted—in regard for his mother sleeping down the hall, she was sure—and he heard her almost instantly. His hound-brown eyes were confused, the frown on his face not clearing as he paused his game and stumbled toward the window.

"Rachel?" he hissed, pushing the window open. There was still a screen separating them, but she put her hand up anyway, hoping he'd mimic the gesture.

He did not.

"Finn," she said, her eyes flickering over his familiar features. He wasn't as beautiful as Jesse, but that hardly mattered. He was hers in a way Jesse would never be. Sure, his teeth were crooked and his hands were awkward when he touched her, but...but that was the difference between a fairy tale and reality. He was real, and she wanted that. "Finn, I need to talk to you."

"Are you insane?" he demanded in a whisper. "It's past midnight! If my mom wakes up, she'll kill both of us!"

"Finn, please!"

His face didn't soften. "Santana did something, didn't she? When you went to hang out with them? I warned you, Rachel. How stupid do you have to be?"

"Finn!" Rachel felt sudden, hot tears prick her eyes. He had it wrong, all wrong, and she didn't have the words to explain it to him. She knew she should be furious at him, angry at his supposition and the way he chose to express himself. She didn't have the energy, though. She was tired—emotionally drained, and even more desperately in need of someone to share this burden.

"Tomorrow, Rachel," Finn said, sighing heavily. "I'll deal with it tomorrow, okay? You made me lose a life in level _two—_don't distract me anymore, okay?"

On a normal day, Rachel would have snapped that she was done _distracting_ him for good, and thrown in a stormout for good measure. But she was too tired. She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, searching his face for the smallest hint of regret, for any inkling that he was sorry for what he'd said. But there was none, as she knew in her heart there wouldn't be. For all his carefree high school demeanor sometimes, he actually led a very regimented life. When she did things like come to him for comfort late at night, it disrupted his routine and he didn't deal well with that. She knew that about him; she understood, to a point. But understanding didn't erase her desperate need for comfort that would never come.

Slowly, she turned away from the window. There was no point in arguing with him tonight; he wasn't going to change his mind, and she hated feeling like a little lost puppy begging for a pat on the head. She hugged herself tightly as she returned to her car, holding her breath to keep the tears at bay. She _needed_ someone else right now—needed company that wasn't herself.

And if Finn wouldn't give it to her, there was only one place she knew to find it.

* * *

><p>The key was in her pocket, heavy and warm with her body heat, so she didn't bother knocking. He'd told her to use it, to consider the condo hers as well as his. The minute she unlocked the door and slipped inside the darkened room, her rapid heartbeat seemed to calm. She could smell the lingering traces of tomato and garlic from their earlier dinner, and the warm temperature at which he kept the place eased the goosebumps on her arms. She shed her shoes and sweatshirt by the door, locking it behind her, before fumbling along the hall toward the bedroom.<p>

His door was open, and the smell of him was strong and sweet as she stepped inside. "Jesse?" she said quietly. She'd been so sure before, but now that she was here, doubts began ringing in her mind again. "Are you awake?"

What if he told her to leave, too? What if he'd created this mess only to leave her alone with it, unwilling to ease the frantic fear his unexpected return to her life had created? He was capable of immense cruelty; she'd felt it firsthand. Now she needed him. Would he crush her again, as he'd done before?

He shifted, the sound of his body against the sheets a soft hiss. "For chrissakes, Rachel," he said groggily, "it's past one a.m. Come to bed."

She nearly choked on the relieved sob that got caught in her throat, and she slipped quickly under the blankets he held open for her. His bed was warm, his body warmer, and she burrowed into his chest, breathing him in, feeling the threatened tears finally spill over. His arms closed around her, firm and sweet, and he tucked her head under his chin, finding the perfect place for her to settle in.

"I've got you," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. "Whatever it is, it's okay. I've got you now. Everything will be fine."

It was like the wall had just...disintegrated. She couldn't entirely believe him but, for the moment, that was okay. His arms were perfect, holding her just tightly enough that she felt secure and safe, his scent surrounding her. She buried her nose against the soft cotton of his shirt, feeling her heartbeat slow slightly from its previous frantic pulsing. He shifted, freeing a hand so he could stroke her hair, weaving his fingers through the long strands.

"You're going to ruin everything," she whimpered, pressing closer to him, feeling the damp spot her tears were leaving against his shirt. "I won't have anything left."

"I'm going to ruin your relationship with Finn," Jesse said, tightening his arms. "But, baby, that's doomed anyway. And when it's over, you'll find that you have a lot more than when you started. You'll have me, and yourself, and a beautiful future that isn't full of regrets or guilt. A future that doesn't include Lima, Ohio."

Rachel only cried harder. He was building up her hopes again, and she was too tired to keep him at bay. "I'm not supposed to want you," she said, sniffling, the words wet with tears. "I'm not supposed to want that!"

"But you do." Jesse kissed her head, one of his hands rubbing soothing circles against her back. "You do, just like I want you, and that's okay. I promise, sweet girl. I can prove that it's okay."

"How?" she asked, raising watery eyes to look at him. He was a darker shadow among shadows, but when she put out a hand his familiar features flowed under her fingertips.

"Tomorrow," Jesse promised. He kissed her fingers and tucked her close again, pulling the blankets up around them both. "Sleep now. I'm going to hold you all night, and we'll figure it all out in the morning."

She could do that. The warm pressure of his arms was exactly what she needed, and the rest of it could wait.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Yes, dark!Jesse is coming back, I promise, but Rachel needed some snuggly time first. Happy new year!_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Hi, guys! Just a little chapter to tide you over until dark!Jesse makes his return in chapter 6. I'm working my way through reviews right now, and I seriously love you guys! Mwah!_

_Several people have asked if they can have this Jesse for themselves. Lol, get in line. I think michemistic's in front, since this is her birthday present, after all. ;-)_

* * *

><p><strong>Dare<strong>

Finn was tired.

And yeah, okay, part of that was because he'd been up late with his X-box and then watching Skinemax, but once again, just like last year, he found himself in a place where he just couldn't concentrate. Last time, it had been competing pressures from Quinn and the baby—a baby that had turned out not to be his—and sports, glee club, homework... But this time, this time his frustration only had one source.

Rachel.

He didn't want to break up with her. Not really. But she was kind of a pain in the ass, if he was honest with himself. Expecting him to give up football for her? She couldn't possibly be serious about that, right? And this new sexy wardrobe was really making him more than a little uncomfortable. He kind of liked his girlfriend being sneaky-hot, not hot-hot. There was less competition, less pressure to be the perfect boyfriend. If he screwed something up around animal-sweater Rachel, it wasn't a big deal. But fucking up around a Britney-inspired Rachel was arguably a bigger problem. Other guys were _looking_ at her. For all he knew, if he screwed up now, she might break up with him and that was just...he didn't know how to deal with that thought. He was the quarterback of the football team! Or, at least, he had been. At least he was back on the team again, though, despite the fact that Rachel didn't like it. And really, who was she to tell him what to do, anyway? She wasn't his mother.

But she _was_ his girlfriend, and today he was going to have to deal with the fact that she'd been duped and hurt by Santana yet again, despite the fact that Santana was _never_ nice. He hadn't had the patience to sort it all out last night, particularly since Rachel had interrupted him and ruined his game on level two. He didn't have the excuse of his mother sleeping down the hall now, though, and he needed to head this off before it became a bigger deal than it already was.

Figuring that the best way was to go straight to the source, Finn headed immediately for Santana's locker when he got to school.

She was there, with Brittany in tow as always, applying makeup and giggling about something. Talking in front of Brittany was practically like being alone, so Finn went ahead anyway.

"Hey!" he said, shouldering through a jumble of other students and stopping in front of the cheerleaders. "What did you do to Rachel yesterday?"

Instantly the smile dropped from Santana's face, and she eyed him appraisingly. "What did she say we did, Frankenteen?"

Finn ignored the insult; he was used to them by now. Before glee club, even Santana had been nice to him. Before glee club, no one would have dared to talk to him like that. But now everything was different, and while he didn't like it, there was nothing he could do about it. "She didn't say anything," he said, "but she showed up at my house at midnight and said she needed to talk to me. I know she was with you yesterday afternoon, and I want to know what you did to her. Can't you find a more challenging target? You know she's so gullible that you'll trick her every time."

"Cool your jets, Sparky," Santana said. "You seriously need to stop jumping to conclusions. We didn't do squat to your girlfriend that she didn't specifically ask for, and you know what? It was actually kind of fun inducting someone into the hallowed halls of adulthood."

"I don't understand."

Santana smirked. "At first I thought it was for you, but Rachel said no and I believe her now. You have no idea what we did yesterday, do you?"

"Does it matter?" Finn snapped. "You freaked her out, okay?"

"What makes you think _we_ freaked her out?" Santana pulled out a tube of lip gloss, obviously finished with the conversation. "There was a lot of time between our after-school activity and midnight. If you want to know what's wrong, I suggest you look elsewhere."

Finn thought about that for a minute, watching as Santana swapped out textbooks and shoved some spare shoes into her locker. He'd been at football practice, and he wasn't exactly sure but...but it felt like maybe he was missing something.

"Rachel said she was going to meet her new master," Brittany said, adjusting her high ponytail with deft hands. "Mine's hotter than hers. He won't lick my armpits, though."

Suddenly, it clicked. The text. Rachel had sent him a text yesterday afternoon while he was at football practice. It said that she had to do something, and to...to do something... He frowned and fished his phone out of his pocket to check.

Right. He was supposed to come get her if he didn't hear back from her in an hour.

That was yesterday afternoon.

Finn got the sinking feeling that he was in trouble with Britney-inspired Rachel, and that definitely wasn't good.

Except, what did she expect him to do? He'd been at football practice. And yeah, he'd received the text during a breather, and had noted that it had been more than an hour since she sent it, but she didn't really expect him to just drop everything because she said so, did she? He was at _practice_, and not glee club practice or one of the meetings of her other little clubs, but _football_ practice. If he didn't prove himself to the new coach she was going to kick him off the team again, and Finn didn't think he could bear that. Besides, what could possibly be so important that she'd felt the need to send him such a message?

Britney's comment about the guy who had bought Rachel at that stupid charity auction made a little more sense. So she was going to meet the guy, okay. Finn didn't like the fact that she'd been talked into participating, but Rachel did what she wanted and rarely ever listened to him. Case in point—she'd kept wearing her Britney-inspired clothes despite the fact that he'd told her more than once that he didn't like them—that he felt more comfortable when she was in her old reindeer sweaters, despite how they made her look. Having a hot girlfriend had been an ego boost when it was Quinn, but a hot Rachel just made him uncomfortable.

So she'd gone to meet with the guy, and then showed up at Finn's house at midnight, teary and babbling, all wound up about something. Finn felt justified at telling her to go home—after all, who just randomly showed up at her boyfriend's house well after curfew?—but as his sluggish brain began to work through the facts, an uneasy picture began to grow in his mind. It was like those...those geometry proof things they'd tried to teach him in math class last year, about if-then statements and little diagrams and stuff.

A weird text. An unknown dude who had spent a shitload of money on _Finn's_ girlfriend. A hysterical Rachel—not that she wasn't usually borderline hysterical anyway—coming to him in the middle of the night.

Yeah, Finn thought. He'd definitely screwed up. But he knew a way to make it right.

* * *

><p>Second period was American history for Rachel, and she usually spent the class time composing strongly-worded letters to the editors of her textbook, decrying their simplistic spin on national events. Today, however, she was tired.<p>

Not for poor sleep—once her crying fit had slaked, she'd fallen asleep remarkably quickly in Jesse's arms and stayed that way for the rest of the night. His alarm clock—set for her usual time—had woken her, and she'd found herself alone in the big blue bed, tucked securely under the blankets. There was a toothbrush for her in the bathroom, and a fresh smoothie with peaches and banana in the kitchen, along with a note.

_Good morning, my own_, it read. _I've gone for a run, so please feel free to make yourself at home as you get ready for your day. I took the liberty of using your phone to text your fathers—told them Kurt had had some sort of breakdown last night and needed his girls, so you're off the hook for leaving in the middle of the night. Don't fret—we'll work things out when you come back this afternoon. Until then, remember that you are _mine_. _

He hadn't signed it—he hadn't needed to.

Rachel had driven home only long enough to change her clothes, forgoing her usual time on the elliptical. She'd been glad that both her fathers left for work early, leaving her plenty of time to enrich Jesse's fib later.

But ever since waking that morning in someone else's bed—a _boy's_ bed—she couldn't relax and couldn't concentrate. For some reason, returning to Jesse in the middle of the night seemed like a bigger betrayal than anything Jesse had done to her body the afternoon before, and it was driving her insane. She wasn't supposed to want Jesse like that—wasn't supposed to feel so calm and secure in his arms. She _knew_ that.

Finn had ignored her, though, when she needed him most. He'd been horrified to see her, too intent on his video game to even consider that she might have a valid reason for coming to see him. If she really thought about it, she didn't know whether she was more angry or more hurt by his actions. Either way, he was going to have to do some serious work to get back in her good graces. She'd been so desperate, so in need, and she honestly didn't know what she would have done if Jesse hadn't been there for her. Maybe woken up her fathers and told them everything, though she _knew_ that wasn't a good idea.

Jesse had been there, though, and he'd welcomed her into his bed and his arms without a second thought. It had felt so wonderful to lie there with him, engulfed in warmth, the soothing rhythm of his breaths steady and slow against her body and in her ears. He had held her, and said just the right things, and Rachel had taken what he offered because she desperately needed it. Whether she was willing to give in return, particularly considering what he said he wanted, she wasn't quite sure yet.

But before her musings could go any further, Rachel was stopped by the sound of a familiar throat clearing. It wasn't the right teacher for this class, though, and she looked up from her book to see Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury standing in the doorway. They were looking at her with expressions she couldn't read—something very serious was going on, and she felt an uneasy queasiness begin in her stomach. Oh, god, was it her dads? Had something happened to one of them? She glanced at her history teacher, who only nodded his permission for Rachel to leave. Unnervingly—steadily, she gathered her books in her arm, threw her bag over her shoulder, and followed her choir director and the guidance counselor out of the classroom.

"What is it?" she demanded once they were in the hall. "Is it my dads? Which one? Where is he? What's—"

"Take it easy, Rachel," Mr. Schue said, moving his open hands in a 'calm down' motion. "It's okay. Your dads are both fine."

"Then what's wrong?" she asked again. "Am I in trouble? Because whatever it is, I didn't do it. And I _checked_ this school's sorry excuse for a dress code. I'm not in violation—Miss Sylvester made Principal Figgins expunge the rule about skirt length last year when she realized her Cheerios uniforms violated it."

"We're not concerned with your clothes, Rachel," Mr. Schue said, motioning her along toward Miss Pillsbury's office. "Though I have to say, I'm not terribly pleased with the Britney Spears saturation of the glee club lately."

"Well, then what?"

They settled in the glass-walled office, and for the first time Rachel could remember, Miss Pillsbury actually closed the door. The nervous little woman looked even more anxious than usual, her eyes big and round, her mouth set in a tight, worried little pucker.

"We...received some information today, and we need to talk to you about it."

Rachel honestly had no idea what they could want. Were they going to tell her that she wasn't allowed to "landscape" anymore? Had Santana somehow blabbed about that? Because she didn't particularly think it was any of her teachers' business, one way or another.

"Rachel, about Sunday's auction..." Mr. Schue took the chair next to her, scooting it so he could watch both her and Miss Pillsbury at once. "The boy who...bought you...you went to meet him yesterday, didn't you?"

The nervous quivers in Rachel's stomach slid solidly into the most impenetrable of knots, and she clenched her hands tightly on the strap of her bookbag. "Why?" she asked, hearing how small and unsure her voice sounded. But there was no showface to bring forth now—she didn't have Jesse's degree of cool under pressure. They knew, didn't they? They _had_ to, or else they wouldn't have brought her here. They knew her "master" for the week was Jesse St. James, and they were going to do something horrible to her because of it. Hell, they probably thought she'd known from the beginning; she tried so hard with her fellow glee club members, but no one ever seemed to be willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Miss Pillsbury and Mr. Schuester exchanged a speaking glance that Rachel could not interpret. It didn't _look_ angry, but how was she to know for sure?

"Finn told us you stopped by his house afterward," Mr. Schue said gently. "That you were practically in tears."

Rachel frowned, confusion flooding through her once again. What did _Finn_ have to do with anything, and why on earth had he blabbed her nighttime wandering to their teacher? She was furious at him anyway—he had summarily dismissed her without even hearing what she had to say. Why on earth would he care enough to say something _now_, when the incident had passed?

"Rachel?" Miss Pillsbury prompted. "Did you?"

"Well, yes," Rachel said, frowning harder, "but he's my boyfriend. I wasn't stalking him like some creep! I needed him, he told me to get lost, and there's really nothing more to say."

"Except there is," Mr. Schuester said slowly. "We need to know what happened to make you so upset, Rachel." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, in his classic "caring teacher" pose.

"Sweetie, it's okay," Miss Pillsbury said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "You're in a safe place—you can tell us. What did he do to you?"

"Brittany took Figgins' doll and never brought it back, but we could draw you a diagram and you could show us on that," Mr. Schuester said. "Show us where he touched you, if you don't feel comfortable saying the words."

Saying the words had never been a problem for Rachel. She felt her mouth drop open slightly in shock though as the pieces clicked into place. They _didn't_ know it was Jesse after all. But they thought—they thought—

"There's no shame on you, Rachel," Mr. Schuester said softly. He was taking the leading role in this intervention despite Miss Pillsbury being the guidance counselor, but that wasn't so surprising. She was fairly useless at her job most of the time, too nervous to give any real advice about anything that mattered. "I know it probably feels that way, but whatever he did, it's not your fault. No matter what he might have said."

Said. What had Jesse said? That she wanted it, despite her protests. That being with him was an inevitability. That all she had to do was stop fighting and give in. There was no _way_ she could tell Mr. Schue any of that, though. They'd have Jesse in jail before she had a chance to explain herself.

"I told Figgins that that stupid auction was a bad idea," Miss Pillsbury muttered. "As faculty adviser of the celibacy club this year, it's my job to try to keep a modicum of decency around here, not let the school turn into some depraved free-for-all."

"It's not exactly a free-for-all when people were paying big money," Rachel couldn't help but point out.

"That's no excuse," Mr. Schuester said before the guidance counselor could put forth another tirade on the evils of the flesh. "Rachel, nothing gives him the right to do whatever he did."

Except her consent.

Her consent gave him that right, and despite the fact that she had been confused and furious, Rachel was honest enough with herself to admit that she hadn't fought him. Well, okay, she'd punched him. And bit him. Struggled. Called him names. Wished that something bad would happen to him. And yes, she'd ordered him to let her go, and he had refused. But that didn't mean...it wasn't like _that_. Not like Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury were implying.

"I don't..." she started, but for once in her life she didn't know what she wanted to say. The words wouldn't come.

"You texted Finn before you went to see that boy," Mr. Schuester said, his voice soft and cajoling, as if coaxing a frightened puppy. "Your good instincts told you that it wasn't a safe environment, so you told someone that you trusted what was going on."

"Finn ignored it anyway," Rachel said, knowing she sounded sulky but not really caring. She was still spitting mad at her boyfriend. "I could have walked into the lair of a serial killer for all he cared."

"He cared enough to tell us, once he put the pieces together," Mr. Schuester said, still calm and coaxing. "Talking to us is good, Rachel. Let's just do this one step at a time. You're talking now, and that's great. Tell us what happened after you texted Finn. Where were you? Where did you go?"

Rachel bit her lip and did not answer. She didn't know how she felt about Jesse exactly, but she did know that she wasn't going to sic the authorities on him. Certainly not until she figured this all out.

"Were you at his parents' house?" Mr. Schuester prompted. "Or here at school, maybe? A classroom? A bathroom?"

She didn't answer.

"Did he hurt you, sweetie?" Miss Pillsbury added. "Grab or hit you?"

Both, actually. He'd pinned her between himself and the wall, spanked her, and then used his hand to roughly get her off. Later he'd held her down on the kitchen counter and used his mouth. But stating it like that just sounded so...so barbaric. It sounded exactly like what her teachers thought had happened, and she didn't quite think that was accurate.

But why not? She mulled over the question in her own mind, tuning out the careful, concerned voices of her teachers for a moment. Spelled out in such stark black-and-white terms, then yes, Jesse had taken advantage of her. Abused her, maybe, even. She'd told him to stop, and he hadn't stopped. She'd struggled to get free, and he'd spanked her. When that didn't get the result he wanted, he'd turned to sex.

But...still. He'd given her an out. Every single time, he'd given her some sort of option. She could have stopped biting him, and he would have let her go. She could have uttered the word _Raoul_, and he would have stopped. She'd had options, and she'd made the choice—whether conscious or not, wise or not—not to employ them.

"It doesn't matter if you actually said 'no' or not," Mr. Schuester cajoled gently. "If you didn't want it, then it was wrong, no matter what."

Did that work both ways? Did it matter whether she'd said 'yes' or not? Was it right, no matter what, despite what had or hadn't come out of her mouth?

They were difficult questions, and she was horrified to realize that she was wishing for Jesse. He always had good answers to the really tough questions, always seemed to know just what to say to make her feel better.

"Do you want to try the diagram?" Miss Pillsbury put in. "Let's try the diagram."

"No." The word wasn't loud, and Rachel swallowed a little as she stared at her hands clenched tightly in her lap. The philosophical questions surrounding that shadowy gray area between rape and sex were confusing her, and she needed some more time to think about this before solidifying her own opinions. But there was one thing she understood crystal clear, and she was going to make her teachers understand it, too. "Whatever Finn thinks he knows, he's wrong. What are you listening to him for, anyway?"

"Rachel, you almost had a nervous breakdown at his house. At midnight. I think it's safe to say that something happened." Miss Pillsbury smiled encouragingly at her.

"I'll tell you what happened—he blew me off! _Dismissed_ me! For a video game!" Rachel flew to her feet, the strap of her bag still clenched in her fist. Angry tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them back. "That's what happened!" Whirling, she executed a picture-perfect stormout. Jesse would be proud, she thought wryly.

And as she tore down the hall in her trademark furious walk, a figure rose up before her.

Finn.

He was standing near her locker, not far from Miss Pillsbury's office, and the simpering pity in his eyes was too much for Rachel to stand. Jesse had told her not to hit anymore, but he hadn't _specifically_ said that was one of her tasks for the week, had he? And why would he have showed her how to properly make a fist if he didn't expect her to ever use it?

The crack of her knuckles against Finn's cheekbone was immensely satisfying.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Happy weekend! It's still Friday night for me, and the kid's at his dad's for the weekend, which means you get a new chapter! Lol, don't expect my other stories to be updated with this kind of frequency; I'm actually working a little ahead on this one, which means faster updates.

Um, also, you know how I keep saying this whole story is michemistic's fault? Well, this chapter IS her fault utterly and completely, because she asked for it. Like, specifically. Want the quote? It's something along the lines of how I've never had Rachel go down on Jesse in one of my stories yet.

You're welcome. ;-)

* * *

><p><strong>Dare<strong>

"I thought I told you not to hit anymore."

Rachel looked up at Jesse utterly unrepentantly as he took her hand and led her into the bathroom. She hopped up on the white tile countertop, drumming her heels softly against the cupboard below her as he pulled cotton balls and peroxide from a drawer. "It was only Finn," she said as he examined her split knuckles again. Even that little touch sent shivers down her spine, and she ached for more.

"Yes, well, did you ever consider the fact that you might hurt yourself in the act of hitting someone else? Finn's got a hard head, after all."

Rachel wrinkled her nose. "I wasn't really thinking," she admitted. "He made me mad, and I just sort of reacted."

"Which is fine, most of the time, but now you've gone and hurt your hand." Jesse chuckled and kissed her palm, then moved her hand to cup his cheek. It was something Rachel had done of her own volition plenty of times when they were dating, and the familiarity of the gesture brought back a wash of emotions she wasn't entirely sure she was ready to deal with. "Look at the pair of us—we look like we went and picked a fight with a professional wrestler."

Okay, they didn't look _quite_ that bad, but Rachel had to agree that they were both a little battered. The hinge of her thumb was still a little sore and swollen, and now the thin skin over her first two knuckles was well and truly split. Jesse was right about one thing—Finn's cheekbone had been _hard_. The side of Jesse's jaw was bruised where she'd socked him yesterday, and her bite on his arm was wrapped in gauze. "Don't be hyperbolic," she said, mimicking his words to her from yesterday.

Jesse snorted lightly as he soaked a cotton ball in peroxide. "Who's the boss here? I can be as hyperbolic or figurative as I like."

"Yes, _master_," Rachel said sarcastically.

But Jesse instantly flicked his eyes up to meet hers, a playful smirk hovering over his tempting mouth. "Careful, Rach. I might learn to like those words from you."

Rachel decided not to push it further. She wasn't entirely sure whether he was kidding or not.

Jesse raised the dripping cotton ball and hesitated. "This is going to sting," he cautioned. "Be a good girl and hold still, and I'll make it worth your while."

"I always got a lollipop after going to the doctor," Rachel teased, knowing full well his promise had nothing to do with candy. "I didn't see anything like that in your kitchen."

"If you want something to suck on I'll gladly oblige, but it won't be a lollipop." Jesse lowered his hand, smoothing the cotton carefully over her split knuckles.

Rachel hissed, sucking in a mouthful of air as the familiar, unpleasant sting of peroxide settled over her flesh. Her hurt skin foamed, and she quivered but didn't snatch her hand away. She suspected Jesse had made the dirty comment at least in part to distract her, and she didn't know whether to be irritated or grateful. Irritation was definitely safer, but was it more honest?

"As your master," Jesse said, swiping her knuckles again, "if I ordered you to suck me off, would you?"

"No," Rachel snapped. "You're not allowed to ask me to do something like that, anyway; it's in the rules."

"You forget," Jesse said with a devious smile, "I didn't sign any rules."

"Your lackey did. _Ipso facto_, you're bound by them."

"You don't even know what that means." Jesse dabbed again, carefully removing the traces of blood and cleaning the wound as gently as he could. "Besides, you already permitted me to make a sexual demand. No panties, remember?"

"How do you know I didn't ignore you?" Rachel went to cross her arms over her chest, but Jesse was holding her hurt hand still and did not let go. She felt a little foolish, but he merely dabbed at her knuckles again.

I'll confirm before the night is out," Jesse vowed, "but I don't need to. I know you listened."

"How do you know?" Rachel demanded.

Jesse chuckled as he threw the cotton ball in the trash can and reached for a small sterile pad. Placing it over the split skin, he took the roll of gauze and wrapped her hand a few times, holding the pad in place. "Trust me," he said, "I know." After tucking the end of the gauze in, securing the dressing, he raised her hand and placed a kiss on the tips of her fingers. "All done, and you didn't complain once. What would my sweet girl like for her reward?" The corners of his mouth turned up in a knowing smile.

"A lollipop," Rachel said firmly, knowing full well that he had nothing of the sort in the apartment.

The utterly undignified snort that met her words was followed by his hands hoisting her off the counter, pulling her close to his body. "I'll give you a fucking _lollipop_," he said, carrying her quickly into the bedroom and dumping her unceremoniously on the bed.

Rachel squealed and flipped over, intent on crawling away, but he was on top of her instantly, his body hot and solid, and she twisted in the confines of his embrace, unsure whether she wanted to be away from him or face-to-face. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit that his touch affected her like no other. It was one of the reasons she'd come back here—left school early, even, which she _never_ did—despite her reservations. She was curious about Jesse's plans, and not only his plans for her transformation, as he called it, but for their private time together.

Already he had her saying _they_, as if _they_ were something again, a pair, a duo—a couple. As if he meant to her what Finn was supposed to mean, what Jesse himself had meant before his betrayal. It was so easy to slip back into that with him, to pretend that the egging and Jesse's defection back to Vocal Adrenaline had never happened. So tempting.

And his hands were even more tempting, gliding up her body, holding her against him as if he fully intended never to let her go. He rolled them over so she was on top, slipping his hands down over her barely-there skirt and squeezing. The motion put her center squarely in contact with the unmistakable hard bulge in his jeans, and her eyes widened as he pushed up against her.

"Does that feel like a lollipop to you?" he taunted, his eyes gleaming at her. Deep blue and stormy, like the slate color of the walls. She felt sure she could get lost in that color and never find her way home again. But more than his eyes, it was his mouth that seemed to call to her. She remembered his kisses so well, despite not having had one in months. They consumed her, making her feel like nothing else in the world ever could.

"Kiss me, Jesse," she whined, knowing he'd already said no.

"I don't even want to know what Freud would say about you," Jesse said with a chuckle. "All that biting, and whining for kisses and lollipops. Oral fixation, much?"

"Jesse, _please_." She wasn't above a little begging if it got her what she wanted, and right now what she wanted was that kiss...but on _her_ terms, not his.

His hand rose and slapped her backside—lighter than any of the times he'd done so yesterday, but she still scowled and tried to jerk away from him. He held her firmly where she was, shaking his head slowly. "I already told you no," he said, "and that should be the end of it."

"Why?" she taunted. "Because you're the _master_?"

He shifted instantly, flipping them again, hovering over her. "Because I'm the master," he confirmed. "And because you know what you have to do if you want a kiss."

Yes, she knew. But she also knew that giving him what he wanted—kissing him first—was a dangerous thing to do. A kiss like that would never be just a kiss. It would cement this fragile, broken thing that they had just barely resuscitated, and Rachel honestly didn't know if she was ready for that. Plus, there was Finn to think of. Bumbling, well-meaning Finn, who she wanted to sock again, given the opportunity, regardless of what his face did to her knuckles. She was mad at him now, but what if he apologized?

Jesse's hands moved, sliding under her the hem of her tight pink button-down shirt, splaying against the silken skin of her stomach. The logical, rational part of her mind abruptly turned off, eclipsed by the primal, visceral nature of his touch. He popped the buttons slowly, starting at the bottom, exposing more of her toned torso to his view with each sure movement of his fingers.

"Jesse," she whimpered, not at all sure whether she was telling him to stop or begging to continue. Not that it really mattered. She recognized that set, intent look on his face—he wasn't going to stop now unless she uttered her safeword, and she wasn't ready to do that. Not yet.

"Been waiting so long to see you," he muttered, popping another button open, exposing to view the red satin bra she'd purchased over the Internet and had to hide from her fathers when the box came in the mail. Sexy underclothes were _not_ her forte—usually she went with either utilitarian or little-girl cute. But the sexier outfits demanded different undergarments, and she'd worked up the nerve a week ago to buy a few experimental items. Nothing too daring—lace itched like _hell_, she'd learned—but definitely more grown-up. "Jesus Christ," Jesse murmured, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he released the last button and her shirt fell open. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Is it working?" Rachel heard the quiver in her own voice, knowing full well that she was way out of her league here. Sexy bed-talk was something she'd never done before, though Jesse pulled it off with aplomb.

"Definitely." He lowered his head, skimming his nose lightly along the bottom of the bra. Her skin glowed, pale café au lait, contrasted against the bright red satin. Finn vanished from her mind as if he had never existed, and she breathed in deeply, fisting her hands in the bedding below her as Jesse moved. His lips ran over the cup of the bra, unerringly finding her pebbled nipple. "Let's see how you like that oral fixation of yours used on you," he breathed, then bit.

Even through the material, she definitely felt it. He wasn't being gentle, but the sting of his teeth made her cry out sharply in an intriguing mix of both pleasure and pain. She squeezed her eyes shut, arching into his touch as he pushed her bra up and over her breasts, covering her nipple with his mouth, skin-on-skin. Wet heat drowned the lingering squeezing sting of the bite, and she exhaled a shaky, voiced breath.

"I'll make love to you with the delicate reverence due a princess," Jesse muttered against her skin, "and worship your body with every romantic cliche known to man. I swear to you that will happen...but not right now. Baser instincts are at work today."

The deep, insistent quality of his words sent fire racing through her, and Rachel didn't know for a moment whether she was afloat or willingly drowning. His teeth bit down again, a cool breath and then an intense rush of pressure that shot straight to her core. She was tense and aching, not at all sure what he might do next but utterly wiling to find out.

"Take me, Jesse," she whimpered, neither knowing nor caring where that sudden desire had come from.

"Oh, you're mine for the taking," he ground out, pulling her still-clasped bra over her head and tossing it impatiently to the side. "But you're forgetting who gives the orders here."

"You haven't given any," she protested, whimpering as his hands closed over her breasts, holding them in a firm, possessive grasp.

"_Mine_," he growled, and it was so wrong in her head, but Rachel couldn't help the thrill that tickled up her spine as he claimed her in the baldest possible terms. No, she was no possession, no plaything, but the raw elemental power of his desire in that moment was impossible to ignore. And maybe it wasn't politically correct—wasn't the kind of genteel declaration of love that her fathers had taught her to want—but there was absolutely nothing she could do about how Jesse made her feel.

"You want an order?" Jesse asked, shifting his darkened eyes to look at her. They smoldered, just the color of a summer thunderstorm, ripe with the promise of explosive intent. "I'll give you an order."

His hands were on her again, and she found herself deposited next to the bed, dropped on her knees. Jesse stood before her, tipping her head up with his fingers to look him in the eye.

"Call me master," he said. "Say it like you mean it."

"No."

The game of chicken was back on in that instant, and Rachel knew it. What would be the rules this time, though? Would he spank her again for disobeying? She was kneeling before him, so she doubted it; her bottom wasn't exactly reachable.

But his intentions were made perfectly clear when his hands found his fly and undid the button. Instantly her eyes were riveted to that spot, just at face level. He was definitely turned on—that was more than apparent even to her inexperienced gaze, and she licked her lips nervously, understanding exactly what he meant.

"Call me your master," he repeated, the edge of a dare creeping into his voice.

Except, Rachel wasn't quite sure what he was daring her to do. Obey? Or continue to defy him? She was aware that she was playing along either way—he wasn't holding her in place, and she was perfectly able to climb to her feet and leave the room if she so chose.

But she didn't choose. Her nipples throbbed with a pleasant, aching warmth where he'd bitten her, and the challenge in his eyes was too tempting to ignore. "No," she said again, very firmly, but she stayed where she was.

He lowered the zipper on his jeans at her second defiance, the trace of a smirk hovering at the corners of his mouth. The material fell, pooling around his feet, and he stepped out of the pile of fabric, kicking it to the side. "Just say the words," he taunted. "Tell me what I want to hear, and I'll put my mouth all over you. _Devour_ you."

Rachel eyed the black and grey plaid boxers in front of her, and the way his hands hovered at the waistband. "No."

Instead of moving directly to his boxers, Jesse slid his black t-shirt over his head. Was there such a thing as strip-hangman? Because that's how this particular encounter felt—Jesse egging her on, and with each obstinate refusal to give him what he said he wanted, he pushed her further toward the inevitable conclusion.

His chest was beautiful—hairless and smooth, toned without being overblown. He was a dancer, through and through—compact and lithely muscular, the lines of his body utterly different from her own. She stared at him, neither commenting nor backing down, watching the way his torso moved as he breathed, the perfect, silky line of hair leading down from his belly button and disappearing under the waistband of his boxers.

"Last chance, pet," he said, shifting his hands again. His pale European skin glowed against the dark colors he so often preferred—the black and grey of his boxers, the slate color of the walls—and made him stand out, stark and gleaming.

"No," she said again, firm in her choice. She had no doubt that Jesse would follow through on his promise if she gave in, and it sounded delicious, but she preferred to take her chances on the unknown. Especially since she wasn't at all sure he actually wanted her to capitulate.

He slipped his thumbs inside the waistband of his boxers, sliding them down his legs and stepping out of them. As he straightened, Rachel got her first real look at a naked man.

All of the anatomy textbooks in the world couldn't have prepared her for how it actually felt to see him with her own eyes.

He wasn't hairy, which she'd been a little leery about—he must have done some "landscaping" of his own, Rachel thought as she looked at him. The skin was taut over the length of him; she could even see a thick vein, and his cock moved, pulsing slightly, as he grabbed the base of it in a fist. His other hand wove into her hair, fingers curling against her scalp. He didn't pull her down, didn't force her movements, but he made it clear—as if it wasn't already—what he was telling her to do.

"You said you wanted a lollipop for your reward," he said, his voice a little tight, belying the easy, taunting nature of his words. "Show me."

Could she? _Would_ she? Rachel considered her options, feeling his hand in her hair, watching his cock as he waited for her to either obey or defy him again. She'd never really thought about it before; the act itself had always seemed a little demeaning in her eyes. But Jesse had done it to _her_, and it had felt...she couldn't describe it. Like drowning in a slow, wet fire, if such a thing could happen. Hot, moist, delicate and powerful at the same time...he'd reduced her to Jell-O with his lips and tongue, to the point where she'd abandoned her pride and begged him to keep going. The thought of doing that right back to him was...more than a little intriguing. More than a little tempting.

Slowly, ready to stop if she decided she didn't like it, Rachel leaned toward him.

Jesse's hand fisted in her hair, pulling, tipping her head up, and she raised confused eyes to him. Why had he stopped her?

"If you _bite_ me," he warned, "I'll make sure you can't sit for the rest of the week."

The look in his stormy eyes told her he was utterly serious, but Rachel thought she was maybe slowly learning how to play this game. She smiled up at him, letting the gesture curve her full mouth into something a little coy, a little teasing. "It might be worth it," she said, before moving forward and giving the tip of his cock an experimental lick.

He groaned, his hand dropping from the base so hers could replace it. Rachel licked him again, feeling both of his hands closing in her hair now. He didn't smell bad at all, which was something she hadn't been sure about—he smelled like Jesse, and a little like sex, and it was actually kind of...hot.

But, though this act had been described in detail in plenty of the magazines she and Mercedes sometimes bought, she hadn't been prepared for the reality of it, hadn't realized that it wasn't like closing her mouth around a sucker or nibbling at a popsicle. Her first vocal coach when she was little had encouraged her to open her mouth wide when she sang in order to help enunciate, and had told her to put three fingers in her mouth vertically to gauge how wide she should open. This felt like that, opening wide to take him in, the length of his cock hard and solid in her mouth. It was a little weird, very foreign, and she wasn't at all sure she wanted to continue.

But then, Jesse moaned.

That sound did her in. It was needy and yearning, and she knew _exactly_ how he felt in that moment. It was how he made her feel when he touched her, the immediacy and absolute carnal delight of something so raw, so deliberately perfect. She shifted, taking more of him in her mouth, breathing carefully through her nose as he slipped deeper before he pulled at her hair again, his firm fists guiding her off of his length and then back on, moving them both at the same time, slowly at first, then faster.

It was...erotic. Visceral. So _real_, and yet surreal at the same time. He was breathing deeply, eyes closed when she flicked hers up to look at him. There was a fierce vulnerability to him in that moment, one that took her breath away. While he was using her to find pleasure in an act she'd always considered more than a little demeaning, it was really _he_ who was more exposed in that moment. His pleasure depended on her willingness to cooperate. At any moment she could stop—or even bite, as he'd earlier acknowledged.

Feeling bold, she moved her lips slightly as he pushed back into her mouth, letting her teeth graze his length. He groaned and tightened his fists in her hair, tugging a little. "Yes," he hissed, "that's good. But no more than that, Rachel."

But she was in a mischievous mood, and she closed her teeth down slightly harder against the thick head of his cock, her eyes watching his as they opened, locking on hers as he acknowledged the dare. In retribution he pushed deeper, pulling her mouth down farther on him, and he hit the back of her throat. Rachel expected to gag—had been warned by those magazines that it would likely happen at some point—but she didn't.

Right. A gag reflex was necessary in order to gag, and she didn't have one. Smirking internally, she took a cue from Cosmo and took him in even more, making a swallowing motion with her throat muscles.

"Holy _shit_!" he gasped, his hands hard against her head, and suddenly he was moving, thrusting hard and fast into her mouth, and it was all she could do to keep up with him. It was as if she'd snapped through some last vestige of his control by deep-throating him, and she had to admit that, while it was a little uncomfortable, it was also incredibly, devastatingly hot. "Hum for me," he groaned, his voice laced with tension, his body taut as a piano wire. "Hum around me."

She did, the first bars of the title song to _Phantom_ vibrating around his shaft, and an instant later he was pulling her mouth down on him again, shoving deep into her throat, and the decision of whether to swallow or not was taken out of her hands as he exploded, pulsing, emptying himself down her throat.

They were both panting heavily when he let her go, Rachel reaching up with shaking hands to rub her sore jaw, and Jesse gathered her to him, pulling her back onto the bed and wrapping his body around her. "A fucking lollipop indeed," he muttered, his hand finding her breast again and rubbing the nipple to hardness.

"Jesse," she protested, catching his wrist, "wait!"

He paused momentarily, smiling lazily into her eyes. "Oh, no, beautiful girl. I'm not nearly done with you yet."

"But, Jesse," she said, doing her best to scowl despite the delicious things his proximity was doing to her body, "I'm _vegan_."

In the instant it took him to understand what she was saying, he blinked.

Then he laughed.

"What you _are_," he said, "is utterly adorable, and far too sexy for your own good. I hardly think swallowing semen counts as a black mark on your dietary habits." His smile grew teasing. "I can personally guarantee that I was absolutely unharmed during its production."

Rachel's scowl only deepened, and she slapped his chest. "Don't laugh at me!"

Instantly she found herself face-down on the bed, Jesse kneeling beside her. He twisted her arms behind her back, holding them with one of his, and set one of his knees into the back of hers. She was effectively immobilized again, just as she had been yesterday against the wall. She struggled, but though the bed bounced, she wasn't able to loosen his grip. "Let me go!" she squealed, twisting her head to the side and glaring through her ruffled bangs.

His hand came down against her bottom, as she'd more or less expected it to. "What did I say about hitting?"

"You were laughing at me!" she protested.

"You were being funny." He spanked her again, then slowly caressed the stinging flesh through the fabric of her skirt. "Calm down, Rachel," he murmured, his voice deepening into something dangerously seductive as his hand smoothed across her ass, firmly gentle, blending the sting into a hazy kind of warmth. "This isn't that kind of spanking. Just relax and let me show you."

His words did not reassure her, but his hand was stroking her sensitive skin in a way that had her complete and utter attention. It lifted and she tensed, waiting for the strike she knew was coming.

"Ah-ah," he remonstrated, a finger tracing down one ass cheek in a tickling touch that made her squirm. "If you tense, it hurts more. Relax. Give yourself over to me, and I promise that this will feel amazing."

Rachel wasn't at all sure she could do that. She was a tense person by nature, easily excited and apt to fly off the handle at the least provocation. She knew that about herself, and didn't try to deny or hide it. This was an utterly unknown situation—she was topless, in nothing but a tiny skirt, and Jesse was asking her to willingly relax as he hit her? Yeah...probably not happening.

His hands moved, releasing his grip on her wrists, and he slid his palms down her bare sides, finding the waistband of her skirt. The zipper was at the back, and she both heard and felt it come down an instant later, just before he drew the material away from her body.

"There," he said, gathering her arms in his grip once more. "I told you you weren't wearing underwear. I told you I knew you'd obeyed me."

His free hand came down with the last word, a sharp spank on her left buttock that she wasn't expecting, and she cried out.

"God, I love your voice," he murmured, caressing slowly, his palm working magic on the sting of the slap. It soothed just the edge off the pain, a slow, throbbing warmth beginning to steal over her. "Belting your heart out in front of an audience or crying in pleasure in my bedroom—I can't decide which I like more." His hand came down again with a crack, her skin soothed an instant later by his soft, deft touch.

"You're going to listen to me," he said, "because right now I'm convinced I have your utter and complete attention."

Spank.

Caress.

Ohhh...

"I'm giving you this week to wrestle with your feelings, but make no mistake, you _will_ be mine."

Spank.

Caress.

Oh, god, the sting... It hurt, but now that her stubborn defiance was fading, a treacherously pleasurable warmth was stealing over her backside.

"Do you want to know why?"

Three quick spanks in a row this time, followed by his slow, soothing strokes. No, she wasn't at all sure she wanted to know what he had to say. His words were distracting, and she wanted to pay attention to that curious warmth slowly spreading over her instead.

"Because I _love you_, Rachel Berry, and I don't do things halfway. You should know that by now."

He shifted, moving her legs apart with his, and his next slap landed at the tender junction of ass and thigh. She shuddered, a low moan torn from her mouth, his warm hand rubbing the area gently.

"Whatever picture you're painting in your head of me—whatever duplicitous plans you think I might have—it ends _now_."

He spanked her slowly, firm strokes landing here and there over her ass and the upper part of her thighs, never the same spot twice in a row. Her skin was hot—burning, in fact—though the intermittent caresses helped to ease the pain, melting it, morphing it into pleasure as if by the sheer force of Jesse's will. She was wet—could feel the slickness as she moved, shifting, unable to relax fully under his ministrations, too keyed up and on edge. It was exquisite—his voice and hands, the smell of him thick in her throat, her nipples hard against the bedding.

"You're mine, and you're always going to be mine. I came back, not to mess with your life or your glee club, but to make you see what we both want and need. What we sacrificed last year over pettiness and jealousy, and what I'm never going to let go again."

His hand was driving her crazy, alternately hard and gentle, harsh and soothing, pushing her, driving her towards incoherency. Inexplicably, she felt tears spring to her eyes and spill over, though he wasn't hitting her hard enough to do any real damage. She'd be sore for a while, no doubt, but no more than that.

These were tears of a completely different nature, and she slowly felt her defenses crumbling under the unrelenting onslaught of his words and actions, the reality of what he was saying sinking deep into her bones even as his hand spanked her flesh. There was no joke, no prank, no ulterior motive. Just what it was—what _they_ were together. All the possibilities of what they could be, if they let themselves believe in the fairy tale, the fairy tale few couples ever got a chance to experience. She'd had that with Jesse, and they'd squandered it, just as he said, on pettiness and jealousy.

And now they'd been given a second chance.

He spanked her again, harder, five swats in quick succession before the soothing caress. "The doubt ends now—do you hear me? You can be conflicted about your emotions; I can't dictate that, and I'm not stupid enough to try. You can play hard to get if you please, though we both know I'll win in the end. But no more suspicion, no more mistrust. That's over today, because I love you and you know it."

The next slap landed between her legs, and Rachel caught her breath at the sharp, unexpected sting. Her hands twisted in the bedding again, clutching handfuls of the blue comforter, and she took a deep breath. He was stroking her now, spreading moisture, and she was already quivering at the edge of the precipice, needing him, aching for him. With a deep breath she moved, twisting in his grip, unsure if he would let her roll over.

But he did, and when he entered her for the first time, they were face-to-face.

"I love you, Jesse," she whispered, knowing and not caring that he could see the tears on her cheeks.

"I know you do." His voice was a soft murmur—at peace.

Reaching up, tangling her hands in his silky curls, she kissed him.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: First, you guys are amazing! To the anonymous reader who says she (or he, I suppose, it's always possible) isn't a St. Berry shipper – your comments are possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I'm beyond flattered, because I *know* how important fans' ships are to them._

_Second, I am throwing a HUGE temper tantrum right now because of a double whammy of bad news I got today. First (deep breath) NO NEW YORK SPIN OFF! But Lea's coming back for Season 4, which to me means that Rachel is probably NOT getting into NYADA, which I find an absolute TRAVESTY, and I'm throwing the hugest toddler-style temper tantrum right about now. Second (and this news is a little older but I just found out today), Lea's been passed over for the part of Eponine in the film they're just now casting of Les Mis, and not even for someone with better musical theater chops, no. For fucking TAYLOR SWIFT. Why? Why does the entertainment world HATE ME? (Temper tantrum escalating...)_

_Coughs. Okay, I'm just going to go pout in a corner now..._

* * *

><p><strong>Dare<strong>

Just as he'd previously promised, Jesse was impossibly tender with her during the actual act of lovemaking—she couldn't bring herself to call it _sex_ or _fucking_, not when he touched and kissed her as if she were something precious, his hands reverent, body gentle. The fierce thrusts he'd used on her mouth were nowhere to be found now, replaced with long, languid strokes that had her trembling and gasping at the sensation and overwhelming beauty of it all.

He was marvelously good at this, but she couldn't help but believe that technique alone didn't account for how he made her feel. No, there was something incredibly intimate about the way he kissed her and the way he caught her gaze, as if reminding her over and over again that he was here with her completely, one hundred percent, and _they_ were on this journey _together._ It wasn't just about pleasure, but about the coming together of two different people into a beautiful and complicated whole.

And yes, it hurt a little bit at first as her virgin body adjusted to the feel of something bigger than a finger or tampon inside her for the first time, but she was more than okay with the transitory discomfort, especially since his mouth was on hers and she was finally, finally getting the kisses she'd been yearning for. Deep, consuming—hot and passionate, immediate and so, so perfect. She'd kissed him on his terms and, just as he'd promised last night, what she gained was so much more than what she surrendered. She kissed him back, his mouth sweet and giving, filling a need she hadn't realized was so deep. The intimacy of that touch as his mouth moved over hers, with hers, was divine. She curled her fingers tighter into his hair, slid them down the sweat-slick skin of his back, grabbed his ass and pulled him deeper into her.

"You'll be the death of me," Jesse murmured, his mouth dropping kisses along the delicate line of her jaw, the quivering expanse of her throat. "But what a way to go."

The torture was delicious—slow, sweet movements of their bodies, giving and taking, hands and mouths everywhere, learning what felt best to each other. Rachel loved his mouth anywhere on her body, really, but she liked best when he kissed her lips, his tongue lingering against hers, their breath shared. She found that she liked the gentle way he showed her how to move with him, his hands moving and shaping her body like clay, his voice softly encouraging, with hints derived from dance classes so they made complete sense to her. She'd also learned quickly that Jesse nearly lost control when she squeezed her muscles around him as he was buried inside her, and he loved it when she threaded her fingers through his damp curls and nibbled just the right way on his soft lips.

"Such a beautiful girl," he whispered against the shell of her ear, stroking back into her with a deft motion that rubbed against her clit tortuously. "Every inch of you. God, Rachel, you have no idea."

Oh, she was pretty sure she did. Nothing could compare to this—nothing. While the dramatic part of her still somewhat longed for candlelight and roses, she knew that there was no way a first time could possibly be better than this. He was giving her the intimacy she craved, the emotion she knew her exes could never match. Most guys were terrified of that sort of connection, and she understood that. But not Jesse. Intimacy had never frightened him, and he was unafraid to show it now.

When she came, it was pure bliss. Jesse was wrapped around her, his mouth swallowing her low cries, his arms gripping her tightly as he pressed up inside her two, three more times, quickly following her in release. She breathed heavily against his shoulder, her arms wound around his back, her thighs cupping his hips and keeping him close to her. In that moment she felt intensely vulnerable, and wanted nothing more than to stay where she was, in the comforting circle of Jesse's arms. She found that she liked the feel of his weight pressing her down against the bed, liked the security of that pressure, and she nuzzled his throat gently, smelling sex and skin and clean sweat, deciding that it was possibly the best scent she'd ever come across.

They stayed like that for several long minutes, Jesse petting her cheek with one thumb, lazy strokes that told her as clear as words that he was still here with her, still loving her. His heartbeat raced against hers, chest to chest, and she could still feel him buried inside her—exactly where he belonged.

When he shifted, preparing to move, she only clutched him tighter. "No," she protested, wrapping her legs around his hips, pulling him close again.

"Shh, baby, it's okay," he soothed, leaning back enough to find her eyes. His were pale again, the dark thunderstorm now past, and there was a gentle light in them that Rachel found she fully understood without having to ask what it meant. "I know—I understand."

"Please," she said, not knowing exactly what she needed but very certain that she did not want him to move, "please, don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere without you," he promised. "Not now—not ever." He kissed her swollen lips gently, sending a fresh tingle down her spine. "You trust me, remember?"

Yes. Yes, she did trust him, but that didn't mean she wanted to let him go. She locked her arms behind his neck stubbornly, and Jesse chuckled.

"Okay, sweet girl," he said, dropping another kiss on her mouth as he slipped out of her and maneuvered their bodies into a sitting position. "You've made your point." He slid his arms around her, holding her as he stood, and carried her into the bathroom.

Rachel had been teased for her small size her entire life, but she decided that the benefits more than made up for the drawbacks as Jesse was able to continue holding her even as he maneuvered the knobs on the bathtub, turning on the hot water. It was a beautiful deep clawfoot tub, and Rachel wouldn't at all have minded a soak, but she held onto Jesse as he tried to lower her in.

"No," she said stubbornly, hugging herself tight to his bare chest.

"Silly girl." He kissed her hair and squeezed her tightly. "I'm going to get some water and come right back here, I promise."

"Promise?"

"Promise." He smiled. "I just got you back. You think I'm going to let you out of my sight willingly, or for long?"

"Just checking." Rachel let him lower her into the quickly-filling tub, biting back a hiss as the hot water came in contact with her tender flesh. She relaxed as the sting faded and Jesse kissed the top of her head, leaving her alone in the bathroom for a moment.

The minute he released her, she wanted him back. Not that she thought he was abandoning her, but this was such a new experience, and she wanted the confirmation of his presence, the comfort of his arms around her, holding her close. Sharing her body and her emotions so deeply with another person made her feel extremely vulnerable, and while she trusted Jesse—truly, she did—she wanted a little time to sit with her feelings and with him, knowing he was there for her however she needed him.

He returned almost immediately, handing her a water bottle she recognized from the many dance classes they'd taken together. It was chilly from the refrigerator, and she took a quick sip as he settled into the other side of the tub, twining his legs with hers, maneuvering carefully around the faucet. Almost as soon as he was settled, Rachel pulled her legs up under her and slid forward, settling in his arms as the water deepened around them, tucking her legs close to her chest and sitting the wrong way in the tub. She fidgeted like a cat determined to find just the right spot before curling into Jesse's willing arms, settling back into both him and the heated water.

Jesse reached up behind his head to turn off the water a minute later, then took the water bottle and offered it to her once more. "Drink," he urged, stroking her hip under the water with his other hand. "Can't have you getting dehydrated, pet."

"I'm not your pet," she mumbled around a mouthful of water, feeling her body relax deliciously into the feel of the bath and his strong, supporting arms.

"You're my everything," he said calmly, "and that includes my pet, if I want you to be."

"_Pet_," Rachel muttered, and she turned her head and bit his shoulder.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to bite?" Jesse mock-sighed, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I'm going to start doing it back to see how you like it."

Rachel brushed her hair aside and tilted her head, exposing the tender expanse of her throat. "Right here, please," she said, tracing her fingers down the soft line of flesh.

Jesse growled, his hands suddenly hard on her body, and he dipped his head and bit firmly. Rachel hissed, loving the sharp squeeze of his teeth and then the tugging suction as he alternately nibbled and sucked at her skin. He clearly intended to leave a mark, which was what she'd wanted to begin with, so she wasn't complaining. Realistically, she couldn't be with him every second of every day...but a mark like that could.

"You're going to have to cover that around your dads," he murmured, kissing a damp line up her throat and across her jaw, finding her mouth again and nibbling at her lower lip.

"Worth it," she breathed before kissing him again.

This was exactly the sensation she'd craved—the perfection of Jesse's kisses and the way he held her captive with nothing but his mouth, able to make her forget everything else in those few precious seconds.

"How do you feel?" he asked when he finally released her, pressing a careful kiss to her forehead before tucking her close against him once again.

Rachel considered the question from all angles before she answered. A simple "fine" or "good" would not suffice—not with Jesse. Truthfully, she didn't know that she'd ever physically felt better. She was still flying high on a post-coital chemical rush, her body softly buzzing with the aftermath of pleasure even as it told her it was thoroughly exhausted—the good kind of exhausted, like after a particularly fulfilling workout. Emotionally, she was...peaceful. There were still questions that needed answering, stories that needed to be told, but she found that she wasn't afraid anymore. Jesse was hers, and the rest of it would come in time.

"Perfect," she said finally, flicking her eyes up to meet his. "I love you, Jesse."

His smile was tender, and it went straight to her heart. "I love you, too." He brushed at her bangs, then ran his hand down her arm and found her hand, playing with her fingers. "You're perfect, Rachel. We're perfect together."

She had to agree.

They shared sips from the water bottle in silence for a while, Rachel lost in her own thoughts, her head resting against Jesse's shoulder as he stroked her skin gently with his hands. She was tired, but not overly so anymore—her mental exhaustion at school had lifted once she stormed off campus, intent on returning to Jesse. At first she had intended to tell him what had happened, what Finn had done and therefore what her teachers thought, warning him that his plan might backfire badly if he was found out. But he'd immediately seen the wound on her hand—the wound he'd have to re-dress, now, as she'd accidentally dunked it in the bath water—and had insisted on tending it before anything else, and then of course one thing had led to another...

"Did you mean it?" she asked, her voice slow and a little sleepy, tipping her head up to gaze at him from her spot on his shoulder.

"I don't say things I don't mean." Jesse touched his wet finger to her lips. "But what, exactly, are you talking about?"

"What you said about me and a transformation. You never really explained about that."

Jesse dropped his head to kiss her gently. Rachel smiled against his lips, beyond glad that that barrier was now broken and she could once again feel his mouth against hers whenever she pleased. "Yes," he said, "I meant it, and I even had a lesson plan for today. I didn't expect you to come storming back quite so soon, however."

"Finn made me mad." Rachel scowled, remembering.

"You can tell me all about it over lunch," Jesse promised. "I really don't want to talk about him while we're naked together, if you don't mind."

Rachel understood perfectly.

"Do you want to talk about last night, instead?" He stroked her damp hair, easing his fingers gently through the tangled strands.

"It has to do with Finn again."

"I see." Jesse looked vaguely amused. "You know it's over between you two, right?"

"You said you didn't want to talk about him while we were naked."

Jesse's expression turned stern and he shifted his grip, turning her to face him. "It's _over_," he said firmly. "You're mine, and I don't share."

"I'd never ask you to." Rachel touched his cheek, feeling the hard muscle of his jaw beneath her fingers. "But you do know I'm technically cheating with you, right? He's my boyfriend."

"Only in word," Jesse said with a shrug. He pinned her with a penetrating gaze that she was powerless to tear her eyes away from. "You're _mine_. You said so yourself, and you gave to me just now something that can never be taken back or given to anyone else."

"I wasn't arguing with you." Rachel kissed him softly. "You were right, you know."

"I usually am." He relaxed his grip and Rachel snuggled back against him, breathing in the smell of wet skin, luxuriating in the feel of being held like this. He was mercurial, yes, and it was almost impossible to know what he might do next. But that was only one of his charms, as far as she was concerned, and the possessive way he staked his claim was...exhilarating. Maybe she wasn't supposed to like it, but she did. After being ignored and ridiculed for so long, it felt incredibly good to know that someone like Jesse wanted her so badly. She was powerless to resist that look in his eyes, or the way he said _mine_ with such infinite authority. "But," he added, "what in particular was I right about this time?"

Rachel smiled. His blatant arrogance might be a turn-off for most people, but for her it was anything but. "You told me yesterday that Finn could never make me feel the way you do."

Jesse snorted indelicately. "Of course he can't." Apparently dissing his rival was acceptable while naked.

"But you also said that I didn't want him to, regardless of whether he could or not." Rachel stared at the line of his leg under the water, feeling the heat of a blush steal over her face. "You were right about that, too. Can...can I make a confession?"

"Of course." Jesse squeezed her carefully for a moment, a soft hug that absolutely melted her. "I want you to feel comfortable telling me anything. A relationship like ours has the potential to be needs brutal honesty in order to survive."

Rachel bit her lip. She'd tried to have that with Finn—total honesty—but it ended up not working. Maybe with Jesse, things would be better. "I joined the celibacy club this year."

Instead of an amused snort, she received a full-out laugh this time. "I'm sorry, sweet girl," he said, still chuckling, "but that's one pledge you absolutely just shattered."

"Tell me about it." Rachel shifted against him. "I did it because I thought I wasn't ready to...to go there. I thought joining the club would make Finn understand that. But it wasn't that I didn't want that sort of physical connection. I just didn't want it with him." Her voice faltered as emotion rose up in her throat. "You showed me that."

"I know." He tipped her chin up with gentle fingers, and his eyes were soft when they met hers. "My beautiful girl. I told you yesterday that you didn't think you wanted my touch but I hoped to show you differently. I knew if you let yourself give in, I could show you how great we could be together."

"Great doesn't come close." Rachel let herself smile up at him. Talking about sex had never bothered her; it was the actual physical act itself that she hadn't thought she was ready for. He'd shown her differently, and now that she was over her initial hesitation, she was glad he'd pushed her. "Does it get better than this? Because if you say it does, I'm not sure I'll believe you."

Jesse cocked his head to the side, giving her a considering look. "Better?" he asked. "I...don't know about _better_. There are different kinds of sex, certainly—positions, emotions, intensity—but I'm not sure it gets better than what we just experienced together." He slipped his wet hand over her face, tracing his fingertips along the line of her jaw before tucking her hair behind her ear. His eyes lingered over her features with a care and reverence she'd never seen in another boy's gaze, and it tugged deeply at her heart. "Knowing it was your first time—how you surrendered to me, letting me give you what you needed—" He licked his lips. "I don't think it gets any better than that."

"Do you think we can continue to perform to standard, since the bar was set so high?"

"The two of us together?" Jesse's smile turned into a cocky smirk. "_Definitely_." He kissed her softly, his hands sliding over her slippery body with gentle, teasing intent. "There's so much yet to teach you—for us to learn together."

"Such as?"

"Well, you learned to appreciate a good spanking," Jesse said, his smirk growing wider. "Maybe we should try something else along those lines."

"Like what?" Rachel pressed. She didn't think her body was up for anything more at the moment, but he had definitely piqued her curiosity.

"Insatiable, are we?" Jesse chuckled, slipping his arms around her once more and pecking her nose with a playful kiss. "How about this—you do some research and come to me with an idea tomorrow, and we'll try it." He held up a finger. "But not until _after_ school. If you keep skipping classes we're both going to get in trouble."

"I claim existential crisis today," Rachel griped as he shifted her away from his body and reached for the bar of green soap in the soap dish. He lathered his hands but, instead of turning them on himself as she expected, he began to run the slippery lather across her wet skin. She made a pleased sound, relaxing into the sensual massage as he began to wash from her neck down, lavishing attention on each inch of skin he encountered.

"And that's fine," he murmured, the clean smell of soap surrounding them as he worked the lather into her back, finding the tension she carried along her spine and deftly working at the knots until they all released. "You're intelligent, and one day isn't going to hurt you. Much as I always want you with me, however, it's best not to make a habit of it."

"I know," Rachel said with a soft sigh. She was willing to bet that cutting class would be overlooked today because of her conversation with Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury, but if she kept it up eventually word would get back to her dads, and that wasn't something she and Jesse needed right now.

"Also," Jesse added, "I think I'm going to have to instill some structure into our time together." He chuckled at her whine of protest when his hands left her body to gather more soap. "I have very little willpower when it comes to you, as you might have noticed."

"The thought had occurred to me, yes." Rachel closed her eyes in bliss as his soapy hands slid up her torso, covering her breasts. "Don't stop," she whimpered, tipping her head back against his shoulder. "Please."

"I have no intentions of stopping," he said, and one hand slid below the waterline to touch her folds, finding her clit and circling it gently. She bit her lip, her breathing picking up again as he attached his mouth to her neck, one hand pinching and flicking a hardened nipple as the other teased her below the waist. "But if we're going to successfully complete your transformation this week, we need to learn some self-restraint. To that end, any physical pleasure will be a reward left for _after_ our work for the day is complete."

"After today," Rachel hedged, writhing against him and hearing the water in the tub slosh as she moved. "If you stop now, I'll bite you."

"I came twice today," Jesse said with a chuckle, nibbling the sore spot he'd already marked on her throat. "It's only fair I let you, too." His hand quickened on her clit, drawing wet circles that made her twist and shudder against him. "I usually have better control and can stay focused through a girl's orgasm, but watching and feeling you come undone around me, below me..." He shook his head against her, drawing in a ragged breath. "With you, I have no control."

It was so, so gratifying to hear him say that. Rachel came with a sharp cry, her body clenching, her muscles quivering as he drew her release beautifully from her, his skilled hands playing her body like an instrument.

"I can't explain what it is you do to me," he murmured in her ear, his hands rubbing softly at her skin. "I only know I feel it, and you do, too. That's why I had to come back to you, Rachel, despite everything bad that happened. I need you with me."

Rachel nestled back into his arms, holding onto him just as he held onto her. "I'm sorry, Jesse," she said quietly, listening to the intimate sound of their shared heartbeats. "I know I've said it before, but it's still true. I never meant to hurt you with that stupid video. I just wanted..." She trailed off and shook her head, frowning at the bathwater. She knew she didn't need to elaborate—Jesse knew what she'd wanted. He understood her motivations, no matter how much he disagreed with what she'd done.

"I'm sorry, too." His arms tightened around her, and she felt his lips press against her hair. "I, unfortunately, did want to hurt you at the time. That doesn't mean I wasn't sorry after."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Always."

Rachel heard the smile in his voice, which made her smile too, despite the difficult subject matter of their conversation. She could never talk to Finn like this—talking made him nervous. He never asked for her opinions on things, and when she tried to ask for his he often grew flustered, unable to give her a well thought out or meaningful answer.

But Jesse wasn't like that. Jesse listened, and even when he didn't agree with her, he let her have her own opinions without putting her down. They could debate or share with the understanding of mutual respect and courtesy, and Rachel loved that about him.

"Do you ever wonder what would have happened if I hadn't made that video?" she asked, trailing her hand in the water. "Whether you would still have left for spring break with Vocal Adrenaline? Whether you would have gone back to them for Regionals?"

"Only all the time." Jesse tucked her head under his chin, and she swore she could almost hear the sound of him thinking, if there was such a thing. He found her hand under the water and held it, twining their fingers in the way she liked best. "I...guess it's impossible to know for sure. I take full responsibility for my actions, Rachel, and I need you to know that. I don't blame you for my own mistakes. But I was angry, and hurt, and I acted on those emotions rather than a more rational mindset. It's my one true regret—_you_ are my one regret." He shifted, his free hand stroking her stomach as she listened to his careful words. "I was happy with you last year, but I didn't really understand what you meant to me until I lost you. It took that loss to really comprehend everything you'd become to me, even in so short a time."

"So you think you would have done it anyway?" Rachel considered that alternative, rolling it around in her head a little. Perhaps surprisingly, she wasn't angry about it. It actually felt...a little freeing. Though Jesse said he didn't blame her for what he'd done, a part of her was better able to absolve herself, knowing that her actions might not have had any effect on the final outcome. "I'm not going to fly off the handle," she said. "I'm just trying to understand."

"I know," Jesse said, "and I understand. I just...I don't know what I would have done, sweet girl. I'm a damn sight better than Frankenteen, but I'm still an idiot sometimes, and I'll be the first to tell you that." He kissed her gently. "I wanted that fourth national title and, to be honest, it would have been very difficult to say no to Shelby. She always gets what she wants, and at the time what she wanted was me."

"Leading her team to another national victory." Rachel tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice, but she didn't think she was entirely successful. It hurt to know that her mother had been behind Jesse's appearance in her life, and it hurt even more to know that both of them had rejected her—brutally so—in favor of something or someone else. In Jesse's case, that something else had been a national title, but in Shelby's case it had been another daughter, a new one she'd found after deciding that she didn't want to be part of Rachel's life.

"I don't know why she did what she did, baby," Jesse said quietly, his arms tightening around her. "I probably knew her as well as anyone, but I can't answer those questions for you. I wish I could."

"I know." Rachel chewed lightly on her lip, letting the feel of Jesse's arms soothe her. She would probably always have questions about Shelby and her motivations, but the wound didn't seem so pressing with Jesse back in her life. Her fathers were wonderful parents, and Jesse didn't sound like he was willing to let her go anytime soon. That was enough—more than enough. She nestled into his embrace and kissed his shoulder lightly. "Can we put the past in the past now? Focus on the future instead?"

"That," Jesse said, squeezing her tightly, "sounds like an excellent idea. Except for one thing."

"What's that?"

"Your transformation." Jesse shifted in the tub, maneuvering their bodies until he could look into her eyes, and he smiled at her with a wicked gleam she knew all too well.

"What about it?" she asked, seeing the challenge in his face and feeling her own instinct rise to meet it.

"Your choir director had the right idea about rescuing some things from their own reputations." His smile widened. "In recognition of that, you and I are going to re-make your _Run, Joey, Run_ video."

* * *

><p>Jesse fed her soup and peanut butter crackers for lunch, Rachel wrapped in his black bathrobe, her freshly-washed hair damp and shining. She swallowed the ibuprofen he offered her for any lingering aches and pains, knowing they would probably manifest later in the afternoon or evening. With all the exertion they'd asked of her body in the past few hours, the inevitable backlash was coming. Still, she couldn't find it in herself to regret a moment of it. Jesse did things to her that she'd never dreamed of experiencing—made her want things she didn't think she'd ever desire. But it was like...like he found those hidden parts of her, parts she didn't even know existed, and coaxed them into the light. He didn't look down on her for it, either, but accepted every part of her just as she was.<p>

After finishing their bath, Jesse had insisted on rubbing some sweet-smelling stuff into her bottom and thighs—an act that almost led to another round on the bed—and had promised her that while her skin was pink and tender, there wasn't a hint of bruising. Rachel had had enough bruises to know by feel that he was telling the truth and, though she didn't say anything, she secretly rather liked how extra-sensitive her flesh was after all of Jesse's attention. It didn't hurt to sit, but the unaccustomed tenderness was oddly titillating.

Jesse seemed to know it, too, despite her silence, and he took every opportunity to brush his hand or body against her backside, the nubby texture of the terrycloth robe adding an extra layer of sensation to each touch. She made the wry comment that he never used to be so forward about touching her, to which Jesse only laughed and landed a light, playful swat to her ass.

After lunch they settled in the office to storyboard ideas for the new music video. Rachel didn't know when anyone might see it—this wasn't a glee club assignment anymore, after all—but working with Jesse was too much fun to pass up. He was intensely focused, unlike any of her current teammates, and he encouraged her input while clearly having his own vision for the project. This would be a far darker and more intense video than her initial creation, and he gently but firmly nixed all of the creative fades and transitions that she had forced Artie to put into the original video. Gone were her angel costume and Sandy Ryerson's cameo, and in their places instead Jesse substituted a much more tempting wardrobe and some truly spectacular stage makeup that made her look thoroughly battered.

"It's a terrible song, you know," he said, tapping a pencil against his mouth as they leaned over the giant piece of poster paper they were using to brainstorm. "But there's a core truth to the situation, which I think is what David Geddes was aiming for. He missed, obviously, but if we thread the needle just right, maybe we can hit the bullseye."

"Maybe?" Rachel raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You mean you don't know?"

"The arts are a risk," Jesse said with a shrug. "You know that. If there's no risk involved, it's not art."

That was an interesting statement, and Rachel decided she'd have to think about it for a while before providing her own take on the situation. Nobody had ever asked her to define _art_ for herself, and she'd never thought to do it. It was something she felt—quite possibly something that defied explanation. "Something that happens as a direct result of something else," she said idly, reaching down to make a notation on the storyboard.

"What's that now?"

She grinned up at him. "_Ipso facto_. You told me I didn't know what it meant. It means something that happens as a direct result of something else."

Jesse's laugh was warm and bright. "I expected you to call me on that the minute I said it."

"Well, I was more concerned about what you were doing with your _hands_ at that precise moment."

"Remind me again—what was I doing?" He smirked at her an instant before he pounced, rolling them across the floor.

"Jesse!" she shrieked, "you said no more of that—we have to work!"

"Master's prerogative—I get to change the rules whenever I like." He ducked his head, kissing his way along her collarbone as she tried to push him off of her. "Call me your master."

"No!" Rachel giggled as his hands found the ticklish area along her sides. "Haven't we been through this already today?"

"Yes, and you're too stubborn to give me what I want," he said, fumbling with the sash of the robe.

"I already gave you _plenty_ of what you want," Rachel said drolly, pulling away and brandishing her pencil like a weapon. "Don't push it, St. James."

"Now who needs a lesson on how this master/slave thing is supposed to work?" He kissed her mouth, then sat back and sighed petulantly. "You're awfully bossy for a slave."

"And _you're_ awfully bossy for an actor," Rachel said, making a face at him before she bent over her work again. "Are you sure you don't secretly want to be a director instead?"

"One goal at a time, Rach. One goal at a time." He kissed the top of her head, then moved back to his own side of the paper. "Speaking of our arrangement, how did choosing your clothes go today? I see that you're still looking a little more Britney, though you added some pink to your ensemble."

"I missed the pink," Rachel admitted, "and I actually spent a lot of time agonizing over my choices last night, but this morning when I went home to change it wasn't hard at all."

"Why's that?"

Rachel shrugged. "I...guess I got all my worrying out the night before. It was like...I couldn't remember why it felt like such a big deal anymore. I've always liked how I look, and it's only after other people give their opinions that I second-guess myself. And I guess maybe that influenced my choices somewhat, because I like the positive attention that the more revealing clothes gets me. But...the fact that I _like_ the way I feel when I dress sexier means it's my choice, right?"

"it's an interesting conundrum, certainly," Jesse agreed. "I only wanted you to think about your choices and enjoy how you dressed—make sure you were doing it for the right reasons. I'd say you passed the test with flying colors."

"Pink can be hot," Rachel said with a smile.

"It can indeed." Jesse tapped her bottom, making it perfectly clear what he was talking about.

"Scandalous!"

"_Always_."

Rachel opened her mouth to throw another teasing comment his way, but before she could voice the words, the sound of her buzzing phone filled the silence. She grabbed for it, her eyes widening and face paling as she saw the caller ID. "It's my dads."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Mwah! Till next time, duckies! (Still pouting, though...)_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: So, Bruised Smile and I decided a while ago that we want to start a fanfiction writer's colony, where we can all live happily holed away in our little rooms for days at a time, then come together when we feel like it to obsess over our favorite fandoms. Can this be a real thing, please? I'm tired of the real world. And Ryan Murphy._

_But you know what I'm not tired of? You guys! Y'all rock! _

* * *

><p><strong>Dare<strong>

"Rachel Barbra Berry!"

Rachel winced lightly, turning down the volume on her phone. Her dad's furious voice still echoed through the room, and she flicked nervous eyes toward Jesse, who promptly set down his pencil and reached for her, pulling her robed form into his arms and settling her close against him. She was glad of the comforting contact, breathing in his scent deeply before answering Leroy's bellow.

"I'm here, daddy," she said cautiously, nibbling on her lower lip until Jesse raised his hand and tugged it out from between her teeth.

"And where is _here_, exactly?" Leroy demanded, but before Rachel could even think about how to answer that, the crackling sound of the phone being pried away from her dad's hand echoed across the connection.

"Rachel, honey." Hiram, thankfully, sounded much calmer, and she relaxed slightly in Jesse's grip at the knowledge that her more excitable dad was being held in check. "I want immediate yes or no answers from you and nothing else. No excuses, no stories, _nothing_. Okay?"

"Yes, dad." Rachel gripped her phone nervously. This was a common tactic her fathers used to reduce the amount of wailing and yelling that happened during Berry family confrontations. They were all three passionate people—Rachel and Leroy more than Hiram, who often played referee between the fierce, loving father and daughter—and the occasional disagreements in the household could become epic, dramatic battles. Getting the facts on the table before making the murky trek into interpretation was usually an effective tactic, but Rachel wasn't at all sure it was going to serve her well in this instance.

"Did you or did you not leave school early today?"

"I did." That part didn't bother Rachel in the slightest. She had excellent grades, and her fathers knew that. One afternoon off wouldn't hurt her, and she doubted that was really the point behind their call.

"After punching your boyfriend in the face?"

"Yes."

"And after refusing to cooperate with your teachers when they tried to talk with you?"

"It wasn't like—"

"Yes or no, Rachel."

"Yes," she said, scowling darkly though her fathers couldn't see her.

"Okay. Thank you for being honest. Now, did you or did you not take part in a fundraiser Sunday night?"

"I _told_ you where I was going before I left."

"Rachel."

"_Yes_," she said, "okay? You didn't have a problem with it before."

"You didn't tell us exactly what was going to happen," her father countered. "I'm not saying we would have stopped you, but we would have appreciated knowing that this wasn't just a benefit concert like we assumed."

"I didn't think that it mattered," Rachel said, now wishing that she'd made Jesse listen to her earlier instead of giving in to his insistence that explanations could wait. He needed to know what her school thought had happened, and this wasn't exactly how she wanted him to find out.

"How could it not matter?" she heard her more excitable father bellow in the background. "Put it on speaker if you won't let me have the phone—I want to say my piece!"

"Behave," Hiram said calmly, "or leave the room. Yelling isn't going to fix anything."

"He's good," Jesse murmured in Rachel's ear, and she couldn't help the small smile that curved her lips despite the situation.

"The best," she whispered back, holding the phone away from her face to hide the words from her dads. They didn't need to know she wasn't alone. Jesse kissed her temple softly, his arms holding her close, and she felt immeasurably soothed by his supportive presence.

"Rachel, you might as well know that Mr. Schuester called us both—at work, no less—and told us what happened."

"He has no _idea_ what happened," Rachel muttered.

"That is becoming increasingly obvious. Why did you sock Finn?"

"Because he made me mad," Rachel said succinctly. "He went and tattled to Mr. Schue when he didn't even know what he was talking about, and now everyone's breathing down my neck over nothing!"

"It's clearly not nothing, or else you wouldn't have lied to us about where you were last night." Hiram sighed, and Rachel heard the unmistakable creak of his reading chair. "I'm going to put you on speaker now, okay? I think your dad's calmed down enough to be civil."

"Civil, my _ass_," Leroy said, and Rachel winced slightly. Her fathers _never_ swore. "What's the son-of-a-bitch's name, Rachel? Where is he? You don't want to talk to your teachers and that's fine, but you're damn well going to tell me."

"Nothing happened, daddy!" Rachel raised her voice, trying to drown out her father's furious muttering. "I admit it—I was upset last night, so I went to talk to Finn. He blew me off, but I don't know where he got this story about a rape or an attack. I didn't say _anything_ like that."

"Yes or no, Rachel. Did you go to see the boy who won you at auction yesterday?"

"Yes," Rachel said, flicking her eyes carefully to Jesse. He nodded at her encouragingly, sweeping his hand down her soft hair. It was impossible to lie to her dads when they asked such an upfront question.

"Again, yes or no. Was he the reason you went to see Finn?"

Oh, that was a tricky one. Yes, Jesse had been the reason she'd showed up at Finn's house at midnight...and yet not. "I don't really know," she tried.

"Not going to work, kid. I need a yes or no answer."

"Ye-es?" Rachel said cautiously. "But it's not what you think!"

"Really?" Leroy cut in. "Because what we _think_ right now, Rachel, is that you left the house in the middle of the night, lied to us about your whereabouts, and then punched the guy you went to see. Tell me what part of that seems incorrect to you."

Jesse opened his mouth and Rachel felt his chest swell against her back as he took a breath. She hastily clapped a hand over his mouth, shooting him a firm look. Whatever he was going to say—admitting that she hadn't actually been the one to lie, or perhaps trying to justify her actions to her dads—it wouldn't go over well.

"I'm sorry," she said into the phone, leaving her hand against Jesse's mouth. "But you're going to have to trust me."

"We do trust you, honey," Hiram said, "but we don't trust this guy. Finn said you were practically hysterical when you went to him last night."

"He thinks I'm always hysterical," Rachel snapped. "I don't know why his opinion matters to you."

"Because when someone accuses a boy of _raping my daughter_, you can excuse me for getting a little irate," Leroy snapped back. "Where are you, Rachel? I want you home in fifteen minutes."

"Look, the whole thing was a huge misunderstanding," Rachel said. "Can't we leave it at that? I wasn't assaulted, there's nothing to be worried about, and I need to have a _long_ conversation with Finn about jumping to conclusions."

"You didn't answer the question, Rachel."

"And you're going to have to trust me." Rachel tightened her mouth, worried about pushing her dads too far. They had always shared a close, loving relationship, and she didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that. "Why are you mad at me, anyway, if you assumed I'd been raped?"

"We're not mad at you, honey," Hiram hastened to reassure her. "That's worry you hear, not anger. But we _are _hurt that you didn't come to us before Finn. Whatever was bothering you, you could have woken us up to talk at any hour and you know that. At least, I thought you did."

"I do," Rachel said, "and I admit, I thought about it. But I didn't..." She sighed, offering up the only explanation she had. "It's private...and complicated."

There was a long moment of silence on the other end, followed by a low mutter from Leroy that Rachel suspected was probably another curse word.

When the response finally came, Hiram sounded more resigned than anything else. "How long has Jesse been back in town?"

"What?" Rachel flicked her gaze up at the boy holding her, but he only shrugged. "I didn't say anything about Jesse."

"That's my point. Honey, he's the only reason you've ever clammed up and told us it's_ complicated_ or _private_. So I repeat—when did Jesse get back?"

"I don't actually know," Rachel admitted quietly, "but I found out yesterday." It was pointless to lie now. She and Jesse would have to deal with this one way or another, and she rather thought that her dads were a good place to start. They, at least, had no idea how badly the relationship had ended. Just as Hiram said, Rachel had only told them that it was private and very, very complicated. They had respected her wish for privacy just as she knew they would, and that had been the end of it. Until now.

"And you went to Finn's to break up with him?"

"Not at first."

Hiram sighed. "Are you at least being careful?"

Rachel's automatic assurance died on her lips as she realized how monumentally stupid she and Jesse had just been. Oh, god, the answer was no. The answer was no, and she'd have to admit it, because there was no way she could lie that baldly to her dads. They'd know, just like they always knew. Leroy always called her the worst liar he'd ever met—said he didn't even need any special daddy-senses to know when something was up.

"Of course, Mr. Berry," Jesse jumped in, his voice as smooth as ever, dipping his head closer to hers to be heard through the phone connection.

"Hello, Jesse." Hiram's voice was dry. "I hear things are complicated these days."

"Not at all," Jesse said smoothly. "I find everything just about as straightforward as ever."

"Can I assume by your sudden interruption that you just lied to us, to keep Rachel from telling the truth?"

"Of course not." Jesse smirked at Rachel's astounded face, tapping under her chin lightly to tell her to close her mouth. "You merely embarrassed your daughter into speechlessness—something that I wasn't sure was possible."

"I see." Hiram didn't sound terribly convinced, but at least no one was actively shouting. Rachel began to feel a little hope that they might salvage this conversation yet. "Last I heard, you were headed to California."

"Wouldn't you know—apparently smog is terrible for your voice," Jesse said calmly. "And all that sun—it's skin cancer waiting to happen."

"Is it now."

Jesse stroked Rachel's arm reassuringly, giving her a teasing smile that she knew he wore only for her. "In all honesty, sir, I came back to mend some fences and reassess my situation. Some things in life are more important than others, but it took me a few months and several thousand miles to realize it."

"And how much money did you spend in this plan of yours?"

"Nothing I won't see plenty of returns on, in the grand scheme of things." He kissed Rachel's temple softly, smiling against her hair. "I love her, sir. I won't hurt her."

"Yes, well, see that that remains the case, will you?" Hiram said. "She's precious to more people than just you."

"Yes, sir."

"Rachel, I want you to promise me that you're really all right."

"I'm fine, daddy," she said quickly. "Jesse told the truth. He won't hurt me."

"If you're sure. You know we don't consider it our place to order you around anymore." He paused. "Just have that talk with Finn soon, all right? He worried a great many people needlessly."

"Oh, I plan to," Rachel said, and she heard the hard edge in her own voice that was meant for no one but Finn. Who was he to start blabbing to the whole world that she had been _raped?_ Yes, she'd gone to him for comfort, but did he seriously have so little imagination that he thought there was absolutely no other reason she could want to see him?

Once reassurances had been said all around, Rachel ended the call with a relieved sigh. She still probably would need to do some damage control at school, but at least her dads didn't seem like they were going to fight her on this. She loved Jesse. Maybe she didn't entirely know yet if she'd forgiven him, or what was going to happen in the future, but she loved him and she didn't want to be without him. That much was crystal-clear, and she was willing to put up a fight to get what she wanted.

"That wasn't so bad," Jesse said, exhaling a deep breath of his own. He quirked a smile at her, which Rachel countered with a hard slap to his chest.

"You _lied_ to my dads!" she accused, pulling out of his arms and glaring. "And we—we—"

"No hitting," Jesse said, hoisting her up in one arm to deliver a single stinging spank through the terrycloth of the robe she was wearing. "I keep telling you—one would think you're learning to enjoy the consequences."

Rachel glared as he set her down again. "Jesse! Be serious!"

"I am, dearest." He kissed her forehead, finding her hand and squeezing it carefully. "Yes, we lost control and weren't careful, and yes, I lied to your dads about it. But I'll go get you a dose of Plan B this afternoon so there isn't anything to worry about, which I assure you is a far better proposition than being truthful in this instance." He paused. "Speaking of which, you weren't exactly truthful with them, either."

"What?" Rachel drew herself up indignantly. "Nothing I said was a lie!"

"Not right now, no, but baby, there's no way those two men knew what I did to you when I left last year. They would have been ten times madder if they knew the truth." He touched her cheek gently. "Why didn't you tell them?"

Rachel shrugged, toying with the pencil in her hands. "I didn't know how to say it," she said softly. "I was so in love with you, Jesse, and they knew it. And then you were gone, and it felt like my whole world had fallen apart, and I didn't know how to tell them."

"Never again." He drew her close, rubbing his nose gently in her hair. "It will never happen again, sweetheart. I'm a teenage boy and teenage boys are idiots, but I don't make the same mistake twice."

"I believe you." Rachel nestled further into his arms. "Plan B, huh?"

"Definitely." He tipped her head up with gentle fingers, and his smile was warm and amused. "Knocking you up before you're even legal is _not_ on my agenda, thank you."

"And it's safe? Effective?"

"Yes," Jesse said soothingly. "Not that I've ever had cause to find out before. I'm usually the poster child for self control, but you do something to me that no one else can."

Rachel felt warmth spread inside her at that statement. He did the same for her, so it was nice to know there was an element of reciprocity to it. "I can go to Planned Parenthood after school tomorrow," she offered, knowing full well what she was saying with her pronouncement. By agreeing to see a doctor about birth control, she was telling Jesse that this was okay, that their new physical relationship wasn't just a one-time thing.

"Only if you want to. I don't mind condoms; like I said, I just need to learn to keep my head around you." He kissed the top of her head. "Why don't you draft some ideas for your big death scene while I'm gone?"

Rachel nodded happily. Storyboarding was a favorite activity, and she planned to make the most of her time. Jesse's plan for the new video was dark and dramatic, and she loved it.

"Oh, and one more thing," he added, pulling on a light jacket and patting his pockets to ensure he had his keys and wallet. "No touching yourself while I'm gone."

Rachel's mouth dropped open, and she stared at him. "I don't—"

"Everybody does, so if you tell me you don't, I won't believe you." He smiled angelically at her. "But that's _my_ job now, not yours. Consider this one of your tasks for the rest of the day today and tomorrow."

"That won't be difficult," Rachel snapped, narrowing her eyes at him, "because I don't do that!" Not much, anyway, she added silently to herself.

"Sure, Rach," he said, that familiar mocking edge back in his voice. "You just make sure it stays that way then, huh?"

* * *

><p>The rest of the afternoon passed peacefully as they completed the storyboard and, at Jesse's insistence, began a new interpretation of the song. The band members at McKinley would be happy to help with the final recording, and Rachel had to agree that Jesse's reworking fit his vision for the video well—sparer than the original, more raw, with a harsh, grating lead guitar solo that she knew the guitarist would relish.<p>

Jesse had brought Chinese takeout back with him along with Rachel's pill and some Coconut Dream vegan ice cream, which he knew she vastly preferred over soy or almond.

"Do I have to wait until tomorrow morning?" Rachel asked, pulling out the information sheet that came with the medicine.

"No," Jesse confirmed, setting plates and glasses on the table and rifling in the takeout bag for the disposable chopsticks. "Even though it's called the morning-after pill, it says that the sooner you take it, the more effective it is."

Rachel swallowed the little pill quickly, with some of the unsweetened iced tea Jesse offered her after she declined a glass of red wine with a little wrinkle of her nose.

"How do you even have all that stuff?" she asked as he put the bottle back in a cabinet. "You're not twenty-one, Jesse."

"Yes, well, age has nothing to do with the development of a sophisticated palate." He tugged her hair playfully, then settled in his seat across the small table.

"You just think it makes you seem more adult."

Jesse shrugged, not arguing with her statement, and spilled some vegetables in a spicy red sauce over a bed of rice. He also had beef with broccoli, which made Rachel declare she wasn't kissing him again until he both brushed his teeth and gargled with mouthwash.

"Is that so?" he asked, grinning around a mouthful of rice. "How did you fare with your task while I was gone?"

Rachel knew exactly what he was getting at, and she wasn't going to give in. "You seemed to like my thoughts on the death scene," she said innocently, nibbling on her own dinner.

Jesse chuckled. "That's not what I mean."

Oh, she knew what he meant, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of admitting to anything. Truthfully, she _didn't_ touch herself all that often. It had been intriguing enough when she first discovered her body's reactions to what her hands could do, but fingers alone were only capable of so much and she'd quickly grown...not bored exactly, but decidedly underwhelmed with flying solo. It was one of the things that had made her question whether she actually had a libido before Jesse awoke it last year. If she couldn't get excited about herself, how could she ever hope to get someone else excited?

But the moment Jesse told her it was forbidden, it was like her mind couldn't help but go there. She'd never _dreamed_ of doing that anywhere but in the privacy of her own bed or bathroom...until now. Until he told her she couldn't. Now, each brush of his robe against her skin seemed to shoot straight to her core, reminding her of pleasure, that deep feeling of contentment that washed over her after orgasm...and also that she wasn't permitted to seek it.

Really, she'd told herself, there was no way he'd know for sure. Not completely. But he was marvelously good at reading her, and that thought combined with her determination not to lose this competition kept her from giving in.

"What are your plans this evening, Miss Berry?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

"What are _your_ plans?" she countered, watching him take a drink. "Isn't that the deal?"

"Yes," he said, smiling broadly at her, "yes, it is. But just because I insist on getting what I paid for doesn't mean you don't have other obligations. What about homework?"

"I could do some with a movie playing in the background," she suggested. "And ice cream."

Jesse laughed. "Of course, sweetheart."

"Except I didn't see any DVDs in here when you let me look around the other night." Rachel licked the corner of her mouth. "Where did you put all your personal stuff? And why? Did you think I'd guess your identity?"

"I don't actually have any DVDs anymore," Jesse said. "I changed everything over to digital files stored on an external hard drive a while back. But the rest of it—yes. I knew you were going to come prowling around before our first meeting, because I know how much you can't stand a mystery." He smiled wickedly at her, and Rachel made a face back. "I took the clothes I knew you'd recognize, and some other stuff, and left it at my uncle's place. But now that you know the secret, I plan to go get it again."

"What kind of stuff would I recognize?"

"My trademark jacket, for instance."

Yes, that definitely would have been a dead giveaway, Rachel thought. That distressed black jacket...it was quintessential Jesse.

"Photos of us," he added, glancing at her over the rim of his glass. "My Care Bear."

Rachel's mouth fell open. "You kept that?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"It was silly. And you didn't—"

"Didn't what?" He looked up from his plate sharply, and Rachel had to rethink her words. It would take some getting used to, reevaluating the time they'd spent apart. Her go-to mantra for the end of the school year and throughout the summer had been that Jesse didn't really love her—that she had been a game, an acting exercise put forth by Shelby and nothing more.

"I just thought you would have thrown it away," she said softly, glancing down.

He was quiet for a moment before she felt him abruptly shift, scooting away from the table. "Go get dressed," he said, in the voice she was beginning to learn meant he didn't want to play-fight. "I want to show you something."

Ten minutes later they were climbing into his Rover, and Rachel took the hand he offered her as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Where are we going?" she asked, feeling a little nervous. She trusted his intentions—he gave her no choice but to. But that didn't mean she knew or understood his motivations.

"Not far."

"Not what I asked."

He flicked his eyes toward her, a small smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. "Patience, Rach."

She stuck her tongue out at him, earning a chuckle in reply.

Soon they pulled into the driveway of a nondescript brick house in a nice neighborhood. There were no other cars, but a motion-sensitive floodlight turned on when they parked. "Is this your uncle's?" she guessed, not knowing where else he might have brought her. His parents' house was in Akron, and while this place was nice, she had no doubt the house Jesse'd grown up in was far grander.

"Right the first time," Jesse said. "He's working late, but I have a key."

As they slipped out of the car and headed for the door, Rachel almost asked why she'd never met any of his family members. Her own mind stilled her, reminding her that at the time, he hadn't had any reason to introduce her to anyone. But now? Now, she wasn't so sure.

They entered the dark house, Jesse flicking on lights as he led her by the hand down a hall, up a flight of stairs, and through an open door.

This was a guest room in a house that did not often have guests—Rachel knew it the moment the light came on. It was bland, with white walls and an unfolded futon in place of a real bed. She stared at the space, a small frown marring her brow. Had Jesse chosen to live here, during his time at McKinley? Had he really done that—and for what? Or, rather, for whom? For her? For Shelby? The room was so different from his condo that it almost made her shudder. His condo was full of bold colors and rich furnishings, soft and sleekly masculine, and so...so _Jesse_. This little room was...not. There was an antique little roll-top desk in the corner, the kind society women used to use to write endless notes and letters to each other, a small chest of drawers, and nothing else. She could imagine Jesse sitting at that silly little desk, his large frame hunched over the delicate, feminine piece of furniture, trying to do his homework. Or attempting to fit his extensive wardrobe into that little dresser—it was a dresser meant for visitors to pack away a pair of jeans or two, not for a young man to condense his life into.

"Jesse," she said softly.

"What?" He eyed her curiously, and it was clear to her that he didn't really know what she was thinking in that moment. She smiled softly. At least there were _some_ instances when he couldn't read her mind.

He opened the closet—nearly empty, save for a few t-shirts and a jacket she knew instantly—and pulled out a black duffel bag. Setting it on the futon, he motioned for her to sit.

The mattress wasn't terribly uncomfortable, but it didn't hold a candle to the delicious feel of Jesse's bed. She could feel the wood frame through it, and she wrinkled her nose slightly. A hard sleeping surface was supposed to be good for you, but she _knew_ it couldn't be pleasant to come home to this after a long, punishing dance rehearsal.

Unzipping the bag, Jesse held it open and pushed it closer to her. "These are the things I had to hide away," he said quietly. "If you'd found them, you would have known it was me, and you probably wouldn't have come back."

Hands shaking slightly, Rachel reached slowly into the bag. The first thing she found was the Care Bear—turquoise, with a gold wishing star symbol. Jesse had said, when she'd given it to him, that it was the perfect symbol for them. Gold stars were Rachel's special metaphor, and Jesse had told her that everything important in life started with a wish—a dream.

She pulled out ticket stubs for every show or concert they'd seen together—not many, no, but he'd saved every single one. A headband she'd lost in the backseat of his car during a particularly steamy makeout session. Notes she'd written him, girlish handwriting scrawled across folded pink paper, her signature followed by XOXO and hearts.

And, just as he'd said, the photos.

Rachel hadn't had the heart to delete her photos of him, but she'd taken them off her phone, downloaded them onto a folder on her computer, and then refused to look at them ever again. Jesse, it seemed, had taken the opposite approach. He'd printed many of them out, and she leafed through the stack, staring at each one as if she'd never seen it before. They looked so...so happy. So innocent. Both of them. In one picture, he'd been holding her from behind, his chest pressed against her back, and his chin was resting on her shoulder. His easy smirk, so knowing, so _Jesse_, lit his face alongside her own sweet, happy smile. He didn't look like a boy playing a part, a boy who planned in such a short time to break the heart of the girl he was wrapped around. He looked carefree and easy, like any self-assured young man who already had the things in life he most desired.

"I loved you so much that it hurt," Rachel said softly. "That good kind of melancholy hurt, you know? Where you feel like your body's not big enough to hold all the emotion and it's going to break out of you in one way or another."

"Yes," Jesse agreed. "I know the feeling."

"We can't go back to that." She looked up at him, eyes full of regret. "We can't go back as if the last few months never happened."

"I know. I don't want to go back." He touched her wrist. "I want to go forward. We were children, Rachel. Maybe in some ways we still are, but we've both done a lot of growing up in the intervening months."

She nodded softly. She definitely agreed.

There were other things in the bag, too—things that didn't deal directly with her, but would have been a dead giveaway if she'd found them. His practice schedules. Newspaper write-ups for Vocal Adrenaline from Regionals and Nationals. Some letters from Shelby in New York—conspicuously unopened.

In a small side pouch she found a little black box, about the size of his hand, with the words Lelo Tiani written across the top. There were also an assortment of condoms and several bottles of flavored lubricant, which made her face turn pink.

"I wouldn't have recognized you from this," she said, holding up a packaged condom.

Jesse laughed. "No," he agreed, "but you might well have kept away if you found it, and I couldn't have that."

"Who's Lelo?" Rachel asked, unable to stop herself. She wasn't the jealous type, she told herself firmly. But if Jesse thought he was back in her good graces, he had to learn that she was an all-or-nothing kind of girl. If he wanted her, she was going to be his only girl.

But his amused chuckle made her pause as he tucked the black box away again. "Lelo isn't a person," he said, grinning slyly. "At least, not that I know of. The Tiani is a present for you, but you can't have it yet."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so." He grinned. "Also because you're not ready yet, but mostly because I said so."

Rachel scowled playfully at him, then set the duffel bag aside. "Jesse, can I ask you a question?"

"Always."

"Why did you transfer to McKinley? I mean, your real reason. Did Shelby tell you to?"

"No." He sighed and reached for her, pulling her closer to his body. "You were falling for me already. It wasn't necessary for me to transfer, not really. Not for Shelby's plan."

"Then why did you do it?"

He stretched out on his side on the uncomfortable futon, propping his head up on his elbow, urging her to join him. She did, laying on her back and playing with the hem of his shirt with one hand. "It's difficult to explain," he said, settling his free hand against her hip. "I wanted to be close to you. I also knew how difficult it was for you, keeping us a secret from your team, and I wanted to ease that burden. Maybe it would have been easier in the end if I had been able to stop myself, to keep that distance, but I couldn't."

"So you did it for me?" Her voice was small, the words slow as she struggled to understand what he was saying.

"For me, really," he said. "In the end, I didn't do you any favors by staying so close."

"I loved you for it."

"I know." His hand tightened on her hip. "And at the time, you shouldn't have."

Leaving that weighty statement for the moment, Rachel shifted slightly on the uncomfortable futon. "What was it like living here?" she asked instead, reaching just under the hem of his shirt to touch skin. He was firm and warm, and she let her fingertips graze his skin, feeling the shudder that rippled through him. "With your uncle—away from your home?"

He shrugged, his eyes half-closing as she continued to touch him softly. "What do you want me to say? You see this place, and you've seen the home I created for myself. My uncle's not a bad guy, but he's a very different sort of bachelor. He likes the odd antique now and then, but for the most part, he doesn't really care about having _things_ like most people do. He's an IT consultant—works odd hours and travels for his job a lot. I was left more or less to my own devices, but that's not altogether unusual for me. You know my parents have always been travelers."

"But you had your siblings and housekeeper, and a nanny when you were younger," Rachel argued. "You weren't alone."

"I wasn't here all that much anyway," Jesse said with a deft shrug, "what with all my practices, and spending time with you."

But though the words were almost flippant and the shrug was cool, Rachel thought she saw something else—the spectre of a very different reality than the one he wanted her to believe. It wasn't what he said so much as what he didn't say. He wasn't telling her that he'd been happy here, that he liked the Spartan austerity of the room or the fact that no one was looking out for him during that time, despite the fact that he was still in high school. And yes, he'd had her...and Shelby. But Shelby wasn't warm; she might be a mentor, but she wasn't the kind to which you ran to when in trouble. As for Rachel herself...she could imagine that the thought of his pseudo-girlfriend wouldn't have been very comforting when he was alone in this silent house, this empty room. Knowing he was lying to her, and would one day betray and leave her. If he hadn't cared for her it wouldn't have mattered, but she could only imagine the gnawing doubt that must have plagued him, his feelings for her growing and shifting as their relationship deepened, yet _knowing_ how it all had to end. Not being able to tell her any of it, and therefore never really gaining comfort from thoughts of her.

"It sounds lonely, Jesse," she couldn't help but say, her fingertips still tracing a light, slow path just under the hem of his shirt.

"Loneliness is a state of mind," he said resolutely.

"I was lonely without you," she admitted, not knowing whether the confession would goad him into making one of his own. She didn't quite know why, but she wanted him to admit it—not necessarily that he was lonely without _her_, but that he hadn't liked living here and, given the opportunity, would rather not do it again.

"I'm here," Jesse offered, his eyes still half-lidded. "You'll never have to be without me again."

"Jesse, I—" she started, not sure what she was going to say to urge him in the right direction, but before she could say anything else, his head dipped and he kissed her softly.

His mouth said what his voice never would—his mouth, and the ticket stubs, and that silly Care Bear, and all her little notes that had been carefully saved instead of thrown away. The photographs, printed out with care rather than deleted or stashed away. Because he was a young man, not a woman, and as such there were some things he would never be able to admit, regardless of his ease with most aspects of intimacy. Male pride was a strange thing, Rachel thought carefully as she raised her hand to his cheek, holding him to her as he kissed her slowly. He was able to show her so much about him, able to talk about most things without a problem. But this was his line, and he'd drawn it clearly. She _knew_ how he'd felt, but he refused to admit it.

And that was okay, she decided. He was giving her time to explore her feelings, and she could do the same for him. Maybe he'd never get to a place where the self-assured Jesse St. James could admit to uncertainty and loneliness in the bland cell he'd been given in his uncle's house. She knew it without the words. Despite his cool exterior, he felt things as deeply as she did—he'd shown her that in no uncertain terms when she made that disastrous video. So there was no way he _couldn't_ feel lonely, unsure, and upset in this room, alone in a house that wasn't his, his own motivations murky at best. She couldn't change the past, and she knew that. He would always have to live with those memories.

But she could help him make new ones—memories of warmth and companionship to mitigate the colder ones.

As he kissed her, soft and gentle, she slipped her leg around his and pulled him down on top of her. Even after all their earlier activities she could feel him, hard and insistent, against her. She loved how it felt to be pressed down, his weight on top of her, and she pulled him closer when he tried to hold up his weight on his arms.

"When will your uncle be back?" she murmured when his mouth left hers to trail enticing little kisses toward her ear.

"Hours," Jesse mumbled, his mouth full of her earlobe.

Which was exactly what she wanted to hear. They could make a good memory in this room to counteract all the bad.

Rachel reached blindly for the duffel bag as Jesse nipped his way down her throat. She slipped her hand inside, finding what she wanted by touch. "Show me how this works," she said, holding the little foil package between them.

* * *

><p><em>AN: No, Rachel is not going to get pregnant. I don't do teen pregnancy fics (with this pairing, anyway). Yes, Rachel's future present is a real thing, and if you know what it is, shhh! If you don't, I recommend not Googling it, because Jesse's not going to use it for its primary intended purpose anyway. Now that I've said that, you're all going to go Google it, aren't you? Yeah, you totally are. If you're under 18 and using your parents' computer, don't say I didn't warn you. You might have some 'splaining to do when they see what you pulled up._


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Hi, guys! No dark sex in this one, sorry (next chapter, I promise!). We had to get some of the stuff called "plot" out of the way first, lol! _

_The "unstoppable force/immovable object" quote is from an old song ("Something's Gotta Give") used in a Fred Astaire movie called Daddy Long Legs, but my favorite cover is actually by folk singer Erin McKeown (rhymes with "phone"). If you like old standards, her album Sing You Sinners is seriously as good as it gets._

_Can I rant for a moment? Northstar said she heard an interview w/ Lea recently, where she was talking about maybe hiring out with Cory Monteith as a duo. Lea, I love you, but that was MY idea first, and it pertained to Rachel and Jesse, NOT FINN. Please hire out as a duo with the darling Jonathan, we'd be forever in your debt. Cory's too tall for you, anyway._

* * *

><p><strong>Dare<strong>

Jesse dreamed.

This was not unusual.

About Rachel.

Also not unusual.

But this time his hands knew exactly how she felt, his tongue how she tasted, and there was nothing in the world more perfect.

He'd been in that awful, bland little cell of a guest room in his uncle's house—the room his uncle had permitted him to use, a little befuddled at his nephew's fervent demand to switch districts halfway through his senior year. Jesse disliked lying to his uncle, but lying to Rachel was literally eating him up inside.

He'd been sprawled out on his back on that lumpy, uncomfortable futon, hands behind his head, ruminating on all the things that could or had gone wrong in the clusterfuck that was his "relationship" with Rachel Berry. She was _supposed_ to be an acting exercise, a no-big-deal kind of thing. But she had quickly become a very big deal, and he didn't know what to do about it. He was supposed to keep it professional, though that had almost immediately become absolutely impossible. She was...perfect. Bossy, tempestuous, haughty, and full of herself. Horrifyingly talented. Adorable to the extreme. And so sexy that it made him ache, knowing that acting on his physical impulses was a very, very bad idea. She was everything he could possibly want, his perfect match, and he couldn't have her. Shelby had decreed the end to this farce of a relationship, and there was nothing he could do about it.

But that didn't stop him from hurting as he lay alone in the bare cell of a room—a room he'd taken up residence in for _her_, though she'd never know it—and imagined what the future could have been, were he allowed to keep her. They would be perfect together. They'd take the world by storm—his preference was Hollywood, but he knew she favored Broadway and that was just fine with him. There was plenty of crossover nowadays. They'd work on separate productions, a little healthy competition between them, and at night after their respective shows, they'd come home to each other high on the adrenaline of yet another perfect performance. The thrill of the stage would push her into his arms, he just knew it, and they'd be _that couple_ in their apartment building—the one all the neighbors complained about because of their incessant, vociferous lovemaking. It was a future filled with decadence—expensive wine and dinners out, an apartment in a swanky neighborhood filled with tastefully opulent things, the siren call of the stage and the most perfect girl in the world to share it all with him.

But knowing he couldn't have that future—not with Rachel in it—made his cold room in his uncle's silent house even more oppressive than usual. His heart literally hurt, something he had never experienced before. He was a spoiled rich kid and had always, _always_ got what he wanted. That wasn't possible now, and he really didn't know what to do about it. He was going to lose her—what's worse, he was going to drive her away. It was inevitable; Shelby had insisted that once his duplicity was no longer needed, he would fade into the background. If Rachel followed him, he was to cut her off by firmly explaining his part in Shelby's ruse, and that she'd never really meant anything to him in the first place.

The thought of doing it made his stomach churn. He knew he was capable...but that didn't mean he wanted to. Her big dark eyes were so expressive, and he hated the thought of ever looking in them and seeing pain that _he'd_ caused. To do it purposefully, knowing the outcome...guilt wrenched at him, combining with the knowledge of his future loneliness. Other girls would throw themselves at him, sure, and he would probably take more than a few of them to bed for a while, but they would never be Rachel. They would never be what he wanted in the long run. Shelby had taken that future from him before it even had a chance to sprout, and he _knew_ it was his own damn fault for getting involved when he knew he shouldn't. But Rachel had given him absolutely no choice, just as her mother had given him no choice. He was stuck between Fred Astaire's immovable object and unstoppable force. The one was his mentor, the other her daughter. Shelby said no, Rachel said yes, and they were literally pulling him to pieces in between, though neither knew it. Shelby was older, wiser, and stronger, and she would win in the end.

But suddenly his musings were interrupted by the soft sound of the door opening, and he turned his head to see Rachel standing in the doorway.

She was here—here with him, here in his uncle's silent house, and those huge, beautiful eyes were watching him carefully as she closed the door firmly behind her. She didn't say anything—unusual for Rachel—but she stepped swiftly to the side of the futon and knelt next to it, her eyes voicing the words that her mouth did not. There was acceptance there—acceptance, and a kind of bold emotion he couldn't quite place. God, she was so beautiful. Her presence filled the bare, Spartan room, infusing the cold, impersonal space with vital warmth and character. She was so unusual, so unique, so _Rachel_. She exuded heat and sparkling charisma, and her personality was just too big for a small-town high school. Jesse wanted nothing more than to scoop her up in his arms and carry both of them away from this mess with her school, her mother, and all the rest of it. It wasn't a possibility, but that didn't stop him from dreaming.

"You look cold, Jesse," she said softly.

Part of his mind knew this was a dream. She didn't even know where his uncle's house was, because he was categorically never taking her there. She didn't need to see the place, and this wasn't the sort of relationship where he planned to introduce her to his family. She was precious to him, but not in a way that was easy to articulate. This situation was too complex to explain to outsiders.

But the bigger part of him really didn't care as she dipped her head and kissed him, and even in a dream she _tasted_ right. Just perfect, her lips hot silk sliding over his, smooth and soft and oh-so-perfect. He wound one hand in her dark hair, urging her down on top of him, and she complied with an easy grace that was the epitome of Rachel. So warm, so sweet. He loved the feel of her body pressed against his, even through their layers of clothing.

"Touch me," she whispered against his mouth, and because this was a dream, he didn't question it. His hands slipped under her shirt, pulling it off and tossing it aside. Up under her bra, her small breasts were perfect. He slipped his hands beneath the cups of fabric, holding the soft weight against his palms. God, he wanted her. Wanted to lap at her body until she cried with pleasure, to hold her tightly to him and never let go. He imagined a scene where Shelby revealed herself to Rachel, only to hear her daughter inform her that she wanted Jesse back instead. Oh, god, if it were only so easy. Of course Rachel would pick her mother over him in a heartbeat, but he could daydream, right? If such a thing ever did happen, he'd be quick to tell Shelby too bad, but Rachel's word was law.

She tasted so good—too damn good. He licked the smooth column of her throat, hearing her near-whine of pleasure, feeling the pleasant bite of her fingers digging into the muscle of his back. It was perfect—too perfect to be anything but a dream, but he didn't care. Dream or not, he was going to _enjoy_ this.

"I want to be the only one who ever gets to do this to you," he groaned, sliding a hand up her thigh, toying with the line of her underwear.

But Rachel pulled away the instant the words were out of his mouth, and there was an aching sadness in her dark eyes that he knew, somehow, he'd put there. "Then why are you leaving me?" she asked softly, just before a crash from downstairs and the sound of calling voices made her flinch out of his arms.

* * *

><p>Jesse jerked awake to darkness, heart pounding and dick hard, blinking slowly several times as the bedroom of his new condo slowly came into focus. He breathed a soft sigh, shaking his head a little against the remnants of his dream, and turned back to the warm ball of girl sleeping soundly next to him. She was wearing one of his t-shirts, but it had ridden up to her waist as she moved in her sleep and Jesse ran a careful hand up her smooth thigh, rubbing the warm skin softly with his thumb. She was here. The uncomfortable parts of his dream were just that—a dream. Memories of bad feelings from their shared past, a past that they could now put to rest as they moved forward.<p>

And the good parts? Well, he was still feeling the aftereffects of that, but he could deal with it. A raging hard-on was a small price to pay, and there was no way he was waking Rachel up to see if she was game for another round. After two trysts yesterday her body had to be sore, and he wasn't going to push it. Plus, he knew from experience that waking Rachel up when she wanted to be asleep was a _bad_ idea. He might tease about being her master, but there were some things he absolutely wasn't willing to risk.

Instead, he held her close and willed his body to relax, relishing the feel of her against him. Her fathers had called back late that night, informing her that they expected her home tomorrow and sleepovers would absolutely not become an everyday occurrence, particularly on school nights. Jesse supposed he could live with that for now, seeing how as her parents had been remarkably understanding thus far, all things considered. They still had the time between the end of school and her curfew, and he was going to push for as much of her weekend time as possible. They'd have to discuss the future at some point, but he wanted to wait until this week was out. He wanted the chance to revel in this new relationship, in the pure hedonistic bliss of bodies and banter and the perfection that was them, together. Then they'd talk about what to do next.

She shifted in her sleep, mumbling incoherently for a moment, and flipped over, cuddling into his grasp. Jesse smiled softly and wound his arms tighter around her, drawing her against his chest. She'd taken to sex with a passion he'd _known_ he could ignite in her if she'd only let him. It seemed that pushing her boundaries to a point, and challenging her competitive streak, had been the perfect way to shatter her obstinacy. Now she was his in every way that mattered—he'd taken her virginity, which was willingly given and unmourned, and she'd told him she loved him. He wasn't stupid enough to assume she'd gotten over all her conflicted feelings so easily, but she wasn't fighting him anymore and that was more than he'd hoped for so soon into their week together. It was only Tuesday night—well, early Wednesday morning, technically—and she was already sleeping peacefully in his arms, as if she belonged there.

Which she did. Always had.

The tenderness in her eyes as she'd offered herself to him at his uncle's house—both in reality and in his dream—took his breath away. It was as if she knew how much that place had affected him, and how lonely and conflicted he'd been while living there. She was the cause of his conflict, but she was also the only balm. Making a new, better memory in that place had been perfect.

He'd initially been a little worried that she might have slept with Frankenteen during their breakup, and was relieved to know that wasn't the case. While Jesse honestly didn't care about the state of her virginity, he _did_ care about who claimed it. Noah Puckerman wouldn't have been nearly so galling, but if she'd chosen Hudson, he knew he'd have some serious jealousy issues to work out. It was hard enough watching them sing together at Regionals; knowing she'd been willing to do _that_ with the clod would have been...beyond difficult.

But she hadn't. For whatever reason, she hadn't let Hudson touch her like that, and Jesse was grateful. Now, that experience was something that would never be tainted by a guy who danced like a zombie. He neither knew nor cared whether Hudson was a virgin, but he would bet his inheritance that the boy didn't know how to please a girl. Rachel didn't deserve a first time like that, awkward and fumbling, full of sweaty palms, probably involving a premature ejaculation and very little else. Jesse could make her writhe and pant with pleasure, and he ached to do so whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Right now she was sleeping, though, and he willed his body to calm the fuck down, because he wasn't going to wake her. Having her in his arms in this moment was more than enough. He'd fully expected her to fight him much longer—maybe all week. Clearly, he hadn't taken into account the depth of _her_ feelings for him last year, though that was hardly surprising. To be honest, he hadn't known. That stupid video had made him feel like she didn't care for him at all, and though he knew that wasn't the case, he hadn't realized how much she cared. Not until the parking lot, when he'd saw the wealth of hurt in her eyes as she struggled to maintain a showface, goading him into breaking that damn egg on her head.

Well, now he knew. It was becoming more apparent every minute they spent together, as she alternately fought and capitulated, her choices never ceasing to astound him. She was a very tactile person and adored being touched, which he'd already been very aware of. But the sheer sensuality that he could coax from her made his mouth water. Though he suspected there would always be the sort of playful dancing and cuddling in their relationship that she so liked, now they had another facet of physical contact to explore.

"Jesse," she mumbled softly, and he wasn't sure at first whether she was really awake or talking in her sleep. "Jesse, you there?"

He chuckled in the darkness, tightening his arm around her soft body. "Who do you think you're laying on?"

She inhaled deeply, her chest rising against his, before expelling the breath in a gentle whoosh and snuggling against him. "Just checking," she murmured, before her breaths evened out into sleep once more.

Perfect. She was absolutely perfect. Jesse closed his eyes, prepared to go back to sleep. Whatever dreams lurked, nothing could be better than what he now held in the real world.

* * *

><p>"Well, would you look at that."<p>

Rachel turned at the droll words, knowing full well what Santana meant. "Have you seen Finn today?" she asked, deliberately ignoring the statement. "I need to rip him a new one."

"Chica, I am the _queen_ of ripping people new ones," Santana said, and she plopped herself down in Finn's seat in Spanish class. "Let's chat."

"You've never wanted to chat with me in your life."

Santana shrugged off the accusation. "Your wardrobe choice today has me intrigued. Anything you care to share with the rest of the class?"

Rachel eyed her fellow clubmember mistrustfully. Santana loved to dig up dirt on people, and while she'd suspected her wardrobe decision might attract some attention, she hadn't really thought Santana would be the first to comment. The bitchy cheerleader had been remarkably civil to her during the "landscaping" fiasco, but that didn't mean they were suddenly friends.

"You _are_ aware of the term 'walk of shame,' aren't you?" Santana probed.

"That only refers to college campuses," Rachel snapped.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Technically, you never asked one." Rachel knew she was being difficult, but she didn't particularly care. Her choice of clothing was nobody's business but her own.

"Why are you wearing the same exact thing you wore yesterday?" Santana asked bluntly, leaning forward, her elbows on the desk and her chin in her hands. "Spill already! Since you're asking about Finn, I'm guessing he had nothing to do with it."

"No," Rachel said with a small shudder, "he had nothing to do with it." She hadn't realized it before Jesse came back into her life, forcing her to confront some very difficult truths, but the thought of doing with Finn the sort of things she'd done with Jesse for the past two days was...uncomfortable. Awkward. Not titillating at all.

"I didn't think so. If not Finn, then...your 'master'?" Santana put air quotes around the word, the corner of her mouth drawing up in a knowing smirk. "Did he tell you to do it? To wear the same clothes you wore yesterday, so that everyone would think - "

"No," Rachel said quickly, "he didn't order me to do it! In fact, he warned me about what people would say. I did it because I wanted to."

"You know, if you want to break up with Finnocence, you're going to have to tell him so very clearly, right? In small words. This," Santana said, gesturing to Rachel's clothes, "isn't exactly subtle, but it's not direct enough to work on him."

"Oh, I know I'll have to confront him," Rachel said. "That isn't a problem. I cannot _wait_ to give him a piece of my mind."

"From what I heard, you already did." Santana tapped her cheek. "He was sporting quite the shiner by the end of the day yesterday. What'd he do, anyway?"

Rachel made a face. Mr. Schue was late for class—not unusual for their harried teacher, but she'd really hoped to get out of this conversation. Santana was an inveterate gossip, and she didn't trust the other girl not to twist facts to make an already salacious story even more juicy. But clamming up and _not_ talking wasn't in Rachel's nature, so she took a deep breath and decided to tell the truth. Or, most of it, anyway. She was leaving Jesse's name out of everything for as long as possible—no one needed to know, and he didn't deserve the wrath of McKinley that would surely come down on his head the minute people realized he was back. "I tried to talk to him Monday night," she said, choosing her words carefully, "because I was upset and I needed a sympathetic ear. He blew me off in favor of his _video game_, and then, to top it off, he ran and told Mr. Schue that the only possible reason I could have been upset was because I'd been raped by the guy who bought me at the auction."

Santana did not burst out laughing as Rachel had more or less suspected she might. Instead, she cocked her head to the side, looking at Rachel calculatingly. "Were you?"

"Raped? No!" Rachel was about to launch into an automatic defense of Jesse when Santana spoke again.

"So it was consensual, then?"

"Yes." Rachel's eyes opened wide as she caught the trap she'd walked into a second too late. "I mean—"

"No takebacks, Berry!" Santana ordered, but she was smiling. "So...what's he like? Tall, dark, and handsome?"

Rachel wasn't at all sure gossiping with Santana was a good idea. But as long as she left Jesse's name out of it, there probably wasn't much harm. Right? "Not as tall as Finn," she admitted. "But the rest of it? Definitely." Jesse was tall enough for her—just right for her to tuck herself under his arm comfortably. Dark? Not the way Santana meant, probably, since he was fair and blue-eyed. But there were certainly shadowy facets to his personality, and when he spoke to her in that one particularly dark velvet voice...she shivered faintly, remembering just how it felt when his eyes turned stormy and his words lowered into that impassioned tone. And handsome...well, that went without saying.

Santana brushed aside the height comparison with a negligent wave of her hand. "Frankenteen is too tall for you anyway. He makes you look like more of a midget than you already are."

Rachel made a face, but Santana's tone hadn't been cruel. The names were just part of her personality, something you had to accept if you were going to be around her.

"Was he any good?" the cheerleader prodded.

Any good? Rachel felt warmth bloom below her skin, creeping into her cheeks. How could she even answer that question when just the thought of him made her nerve endings fire as if he were actually touching her? When conjuring up his face in her mind, the shape of his sweet mouth, made her want to ditch school again immediately to go and find him?

"Ew," Santana said lightly. "Don't answer that. The look on your face is enough." She wrinkled her nose, then smiled again. "Hudson hasn't got a snowball's chance in hell against this dude."

She really had _no_ idea.

And as the class period progressed, Rachel decided that once school was over for the day, she was going to absolutely _murder_ Jesse St. James. His prohibition on touching herself was driving her crazy. It was the lure of the forbidden; she _knew_ it was. The minute Santana asked whether Jesse was any good, it started. The unbridled _want_, the pure desire for touch and heat, the terrifying, delicious things he'd proved them both capable of in the past two days. As she listened to Mr. Schue with half an ear, most of her mind was focused on her body and the frankly annoying thrumming that thinking about Jesse caused. Part of her wanted to excuse herself to the bathroom to take care of the problem, but she considered Jesse's edict more of a dare—a competition—and she didn't want him to win. She had self control, right? She could totally do this. All she had to do was make it through school and glee club, and then she could kill Jesse. Or kiss him. Either one seemed like an acceptable choice at this point.

Which reminded her. He'd told her to do some research, and come up with a new activity they could try during their time together today. Rachel chewed on her lower lip for a moment, weighing whether it would be such a bad idea to do a little research during class. Mr. Schue didn't care if they used their laptops to take notes. Plus, he trusted her. She was a good student, and he wouldn't suspect her of playing on the Internet when she was supposed to be listening to his Spanish lecture.

Decided, Rachel took out her pink laptop and opened it. After logging onto the school's Wi-Fi connection, she dimmed the lights on the screen to the lowest setting, so the students sitting behind her couldn't see what she was doing. Slowly, she took a deep breath. What did she want to search for? She didn't even know where to begin. She knew for a fact that just typing "sex" into a search engine was a _bad_ idea, and typing "kinky sex" seemed even worse. She didn't want porn, she wanted...well, actually, she didn't entirely know what she wanted. A how-to guide? Maybe. A hint of some sort would be good—just some ideas to get her creative juices flowing.

But the more she thought about it, the more her other problem grew. Her nipples were hard under the cups of her bra, and she was insanely glad for the soft pink cardigan she was wearing that helped hide it. She hunched forward slightly, curling her shoulders inward from her usual perfect posture, wondering how much worse boys must feel when an inconveniently-timed erection made itself known. Of course, thinking about _that_ only made her thoughts turn yet again to Jesse, and what he'd shown her he could do with his very _conveniently_-timed erections.

Yep. No doubt about it—she was going to murder Jesse St. James as soon as she got the opportunity.

To top it off, no matter what words she tried to use, the school's content-blocking software kept refusing to let her look at anything even remotely helpful. Figgins had the content rules set so tightly that even the slightest mention of sex was categorically forbidden. So now what was she supposed to do? This had been one of her tasks for today, and she knew Jesse well enough to know that he wouldn't just forget something like that. Finn, sure. If it had been Finn, she wouldn't worry. But she had no idea what Jesse might do if she failed one of her tasks. She wouldn't put it past him to use it as an excuse to spank her again—he was _definitely_ an ass man—but he also had the capacity for more creative measures as well. What if he said they couldn't "play" at all, since she failed to come up with an idea? After the day she was having, that was just unacceptable. She refused to let it happen.

So if research wasn't going to help her, she'd just have to rely on her own colorful imagination.

By second period, it was obvious that Finn wasn't coming to school. Rachel seethed, not sure which boy she was more irritated with—Jesse for making her physically uncomfortable and wanting him, or Finn for not being around to yell at. She was _supposed_ to rip Finn a new one today, and he was upsetting her carefully-laid plans.

Mr. Schue had ordered her to stay after when the bell rang at the end of Spanish class, and he'd asked her solicitously whether there was anything he could do for her. It was obvious that he still thought she'd been molested by some unnamed assailant, and she wondered if anything she said would ever really change his mind. Insisting that he was wrong didn't seem to do it. She wondered if saying Jesse's name would clear things up, but she didn't quite dare. Not if there was a chance that someone else might hear it.

There were definite whispers about her in the hall, and she could feel the eyes of people who hadn't given her a second glance before she started changing up her wardrobe. Rachel found that she rather liked it. Most people didn't notice that she'd worn the same clothes two days in a row—high school students were self-centered, and that wasn't the sort of thing she expected the entire student body to pick up on—but those that did _definitely_ were talking about it. Rachel Berry, the unexpected draw of the weekend's charity auction, had now come to school three days later unrepentantly flaunting the fact that she hadn't been home the night before. And Finn, her boyfriend, wasn't even at school that day. It all added up to a huge amount of speculation, and Rachel was eating up the attention. People who used to throw slushies at her and mark up her photos in the school yearbook were now looking at her with something else in their eyes. It wasn't respect—not yet. But it was...considering. They were wondering about her now, where before she'd just been roundly dismissed.

This was part of what Jesse was talking about, she was sure of it. And even though she wanted to kill him, she couldn't help but feel a soft warmth roll through her as she thought of how he talked about her transformation, and wanting to help her with this problem that she'd assumed was hers to bear alone. Her fathers were wonderful, but this wasn't something they could do for her.

But Jesse wanted to help. He wanted to, and he had the capability. He'd ruled Carmel; knew how to play this game to deliver the best possible outcome. Rachel had always felt like the rest of her peers were somehow playing with a rigged deck, like they had some sort of sneaky shorthand for how to cheat the system in their favor. But Jesse—she had no _doubt_ that he knew how to cheat the system, and she wasn't going to stop him. Not this time. This time, she was going to let his cunning work for her, not against her.

* * *

><p>In fourth period, Tina turned around and leaned over her desk from the seat in front, and her soft eyes were worried. "Are you okay?" she asked.<p>

"Fine," Rachel said, pulling out her books and rummaging in her bag for a pen. "Why do you ask?"

"Everyone is talking about you. I'd hate it if that were me."

Rachel shrugged. "That's the difference between you and me." It was, too. As much as Tina enjoyed performing, she didn't love the spotlight like Rachel did. She didn't crave attention—possibly because of her shyer nature, but also possibly because her harassment at school had never been as bad. She was ignored, yes, and even teased sometimes, but it never reached the levels that, say, Kurt or Rachel herself experienced. But Rachel longed...not to be popular, per se, because she really had no interest in joining the Cheerios or doing any of the other things that were necessary to become one of the popular girl clones, as Jesse called them. But she _did_ want to be recognized, and respected, and for the taunts and insults to just stop. Too much had happened already for her to want to be friends with the mean kids here at McKinley. But that didn't mean she wanted to finish high school stuck in this web of fear and resentment.

"Aren't you worried about your reputation?"

Rachel laughed at that. "My stock at this school has nowhere to go but up. You know that."

"But it's for the wrong reasons."

"How do you know?" Rachel eyed Tina, who really did look worried. Though she had been one of the original group to shun her for dating Jesse the first time around, she was also one of the glee losers—the kids who had joined the group because they wanted to, before any of the football players or cheerleaders got involved. In that respect, Tina was perhaps one of the closest things she had to a real friend. "You know, it feels good not to be slushied every day. Or find hateful notes stuffed in my locker when I open it."

"But you're sacrificing who you are."

"I'm not," Rachel insisted. "Nobody's _making_ me do anything. I'm making my own choices for my own reasons. I know the whole goth thing works for you, and that's great, but I'm still exploring who I am. My clothes aren't all that different now, you know, than what I wore before."

"But the sex, Rachel," Tina said. "Trying on a new look isn't a big deal. Everyone does it. But people are saying all these things about you—first that the guy who bought you at auction raped you, and now that you willingly had sex with him."

"Nobody raped me," Rachel assured her. "That was Finn's stupid assumption, and I'm going to chew him out when I see him again. The rest of it—yes. I did. I don't see what the big deal is. I'm not suddenly going to become Brittany or Santana."

"I guess you're right," Tina allowed. "Can I worry if you start sliding into their territory?"

"Sure," Rachel said with a smile.

"So...you cheated on Finn?" Tina's mouth quirked. "That will definitely raise your reputation with this crowd. But I thought you loved him?"

"So did I," Rachel agreed. "It's hard to explain, but I guess...some things are inevitable."

"Cheating?" Tina frowned. "Cheating's not inevitable. I'd never cheat on Mike."

"No," Rachel said quickly, "not that. I never in my life expected to be a cheater, and to be honest, it's the one thing in all of this that I regret." She tapped the desk with her short nails, trying to find the words to explain exactly how she felt. She was furious enough at Finn that she didn't care at the moment about hurting him—if it even _would_ hurt him. The way he'd blown her off that night made her question things she'd never before allowed herself to question, including how deep his feelings for her could really be. But this whole situation had turned her into a cheater, and _that_ was something she did regret. The tarnish to her own personal moral code, though she couldn't make herself regret Jesse or anything they'd done together. It sucked that Finn was in the way—that was all. "But...sometimes there's this spark, you know?" She looked at Tina, willing the other girl to understand. "Like how you were dating Artie, but then you started to see Mike in a whole different light."

An understanding smile crossed Tina's face, and she nodded. "I know exactly how that feels. And it doesn't mean I don't care about Artie, but...it's just not the same. Mike's parents drive me crazy, but I really love him."

"Yes," Rachel said, ignoring the part about parents. "I know exactly what you mean."

* * *

><p>For the first time she could remember, Rachel found herself dreading the moment when she had to go to glee club. She'd blown off meetings for all of her other clubs this week, but glee was important. Jesse would have to wait, and so would she, though she desperately did not want to.<p>

They were practicing in the auditorium today, though she really had no idea why. Mr. Schue wouldn't even start thinking about a setlist for Sectionals for months, and he'd already told them they weren't having an Invitational this year. The school didn't want to pay to open the auditorium for a night, especially since Figgins assumed turnout would be abysmal.

Brittany wasn't there—Santana groused that the football player who had won her at auction was hardly letting her do anything out of his sight. To Rachel's surprise, both the bitchy cheerleader and Tina took up places near her in the group, and Puck gave her a meaningful little wink when he caught her eye through the small crowd of teammates.

Quinn, however, was another story.

Rachel knew full well that the blond girl wanted Finn back. The breakup hadn't been her idea, and she wanted her life back, just the way it had been before the unplanned pregnancy. In that respect, Rachel could feel for her. It sucked that one bad decision made in the heat of the moment had changed her life so drastically. She breathed a little sigh of relief for her own situation—a boy who had been caring and responsible enough to suggest a chemical backup plan, so they wouldn't be stuck praying for the next month that they didn't end up in Quinn and Puck's positions.

But on the other hand, Quinn had really brought this on herself. She'd lied. Hurt people. Treated them like garbage. You couldn't then turn around and pretend none of that had happened; it wasn't possible. She had never, as far as Rachel knew, tried to make amends to Finn or his mother for lying to them about the baby, and that was the real reason Finn had no interest in getting back together with her, despite the fact that he still had feelings for her. Rachel wasn't stupid. She _knew_ her boyfriend hadn't completely gotten over Quinn, and that was one reason she'd felt the need to hold him so tightly, metaphorically speaking, until recently. She hadn't felt secure enough to disagree and argue with him about things, until their spat about her clothing choices had blown up into a far deeper and more profound rift. She suspected that even without Jesse's presence, her relationship with Finn was probably doomed, anyway. And without Jesse, that would have been a much harder pill to swallow.

But Jesse...Jesse understood her in ways Finn didn't. More than that, he _tried_ to understand, where Finn only criticized. This morning's conversation about her clothes was a perfect example. Jesse had not, at first, agreed with her decision to re-wear yesterday's outfit rather than run home to change. But he didn't forbid her to do it—didn't fly into a temper and insist she do things his way. Instead, he listened to her argument, then kissed her deeply, reiterating his earlier decree that her clothing choices were her own, provided she wasn't wearing underwear. Whereas Finn had thrown a tantrum at her Britney Spears clothes from the very beginning, pressuring her to wear something else because it made him more comfortable.

Deep in thought, Rachel stepped slowly toward the darkness of the wings, away from the poison in Quinn's glare. _Let_ the cheerleader be angry if she wanted. _Let_ her act all high and mighty. She'd done far worse to Finn, with far less cause. Besides, she'd schemed to keep Finn while lying to him, basically forever. Rachel wanted to cut him loose as soon as possible, but he hadn't come to school today and he wasn't answering his phone.

She supposed she could always swing by his house and demand to see him before she went to Jesse's that afternoon. It would cut into her time with her phantom, though, particularly since her fathers had impressed upon her that her curfew was non-negotiable, even for Jesse. Rachel stepped further into the wings, digging her cell phone out. Maybe she'd try calling Finn one more time before Mr. Schue—late as usual—started rehearsal. What she really should do, she thought, was borrow Puck's phone. Then Finn wouldn't know it was her from the caller ID, and he'd probably pick up.

Rachel was just about to suit action to words when a hand appeared out of the shadows, circling her wrist and pulling firmly. She didn't have time to yell as she was yanked swiftly backstage, away from her oblivious teammates.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: So, who missed me? ;-) I disappeared for a while because of really low review counts, but northstar said I'm not allowed to abandon anything and specifically asked for the next chapter of this. And what can I say? I'm a sucker for Canadian puppy-dog eyes!_

_Just FYI, I quit watching Glee after the Finchel proposal. Not "officially" or anything - I didn't make up my mind to stop, I'm just busy with a bunch of other stuff right now, and watching it makes me grumpy. I'll probably catch up during the summer sometime. All of you who have been disappearing on me, you'd better come back out of the woodwork! Androgenius! AmyLeigh! Don't leave northstar and I alone out here! Bandtogetherandfight - you're wonderful! Bruised Smile is excused because she sends me lovely long PM's. (Yes, I'm utterly bribe-able, what can I say?) _

_Sniff! My kid turned six a couple of weeks ago! It feels like a big turning point!_

* * *

><p><strong>Dare<strong>

It was Jesse who held her so tightly—Rachel knew instantly by the feel of his arms and the scent of his skin, and that was the only reason she didn't put up a bigger fight as he pulled her through a side door and out into the late afternoon air. She recognized the rough rhythm of his breaths, the firm anchor of his chest as he held her against him, one arm around her waist, pinning her arms, the other hand clamped over her mouth so she couldn't scream or yell for help. Part of her was shaken, honestly surprised that he'd go as far as to kidnap her from school—in broad daylight, at a place where his lovely face would definitely be recognized—but another part of her doubted there was much Jesse _wouldn't_ do if he felt compelled.

Once the immediate shock of being grabbed ebbed, maybe two or three seconds after he'd first yanked her into the shadows backstage, irritation at his heavy-handedness—no pun intended—swept in to replace it. She opened her mouth under his hand, finding the meat of his palm and biting down.

A muffled curse was her only reward. He didn't have a free hand to retaliate with, though he did shift his body, and a moment later he brought them up tight against the outer wall of the auditorium, partially hidden from anyone's view by a line of tall shrubbery.

"I'm going to move my hand," he breathed in her ear, still holding her tightly, her back to his chest so she couldn't see him. "And you're not going to make any noise. Got it?"

Rachel considered her options. She trusted Jesse—trusted him not to hurt her, trusted him to know when boundary-pushing became over the top and unacceptable. Kidnapping her from school like that, with no warning, was drawing pretty close to the line. But he'd _said_ he was going to push her. Really, she thought, she probably should have expected something like this. Jesse was nothing if not audacious. Slowly she nodded. Screaming for help wouldn't do either of them any good at this point. It would land Jesse in jail, for sure, and leave her with a hell of a lot of people demanding answers that she didn't want to give.

"Good girl," he breathed, and he dropped his hand slowly away from her mouth. He still held her tightly against him with his other arm, and she could see the little pinched tooth-marks she'd left on the smooth skin of his palm. Well, good. She was probably going to pay for that later, but she didn't much care. Serve him right for scaring the shit out of her. "Come on, pet. We're getting out of here."

He propelled her forward, still not letting go, and Rachel saw his Range Rover waiting nearby, in an area that clearly was not meant for parking. She scowled, wishing there were a way to show her displeasure without alerting the authorities, but her hands were tied. If she cried out for help, bad things would happen to them both. So, though she disliked being forced, she did not protest as he opened the passenger door and all but lifted her into the tall vehicle. It was only a moment before he was beside her in the driver's seat, and she looked at him reproachfully.

"You didn't have to go to all that trouble," she griped, folding her arms over her chest. "It's not like I wasn't coming to see you after glee club."

But instead of flashing her one of his devastatingly cocky grins and answering with an equally obnoxious quip, he merely shook his head. His face was firmly set, his jaw hard, and Rachel's eyes widened slightly as he reached into the compartment of the console between their seats and drew out a long black cloth.

"Good girls who do as they're told get to see where they're going," he said, attempting to place the cloth over her eyes.

Rachel flinched back, swatting his hands away. "Don't _even_," she said.

"Says who?" The challenge in his voice was unmistakable. This wasn't her playful Jesse, the one who tackled her to the floor and tickled her, knowing she wouldn't give in. This was the Jesse who had pinned her against a wall and spanked her, who had dared her to defy him, goading her on, manipulating each circumstance so he knew—_knew_—what her answer would be. "Who am I this week, Rachel, and who are you?"

She didn't answer. This was the game, the dare, the question lurking at the back of each interaction this week. Could she do it? She was strong, loud, and self-sufficient. She did not respond well to authority when she didn't choose to. Was she capable of supplanting her natural tendencies in order to win this game? Jesse seemed to think so. He'd promised to keep her safe while pushing her boundaries. If she didn't know her own limitations, could she trust him?

"I already know where we're going," she muttered, eyeing the black cloth with misgiving. "There's no point in blindfolding me."

"There's every point. It's not about that, as you'll learn."

Rachel already knew that it wasn't just about seeing where they were going. It was about control—the willing loss of it, placing that trust in the hands of someone else. It made no difference to Jesse that she already knew where he was taking her. She did not particularly want to give him that control, though. She was a strong girl, a fiercely independent young woman, and she did not willingly hand that part of herself over to someone else's keeping. She would have stayed with Finn and let him dictate her clothing choices if what she wanted was a boy to boss her around.

But that's not what Jesse was asking. _Raoul_, she thought, letting the word flow around and take shape in her head. This was a game, and for a week Jesse wanted to play it. He wasn't asking her to give up herself, just a little bit of control for a measured period of time. If she trusted that he wouldn't hurt her, really, where was the harm in that? He'd given her an out—a word she could utter if she truly became uncomfortable. It was her safety, a lifeline in case she found herself in over her head.

So...could she do it? That was the real question. Could she give Jesse the control he wanted, for a measured bit of time, in order to experience what he wanted them to experience together? Rachel didn't know, but as her anger ebbed she thought she was willing to try. She raised her eyes to Jesse, watching his firm, pretty face as he watched her back.

"You're thinking too much about this," he said softly. "There are some things in this world that defy logic, Rachel. They're meant to be experienced, not analyzed."

It was like stepping onto a stage—very like. As much as she could storyboard, block, rehearse, and prepare for a role or a solo, in the end she had to make that leap of faith and stride out in front of the audience by herself. Each performance was just that—an experience. In the moment, it wasn't anything she could analyze and interpret, just _feel_. That was what Jesse was asking for.

"Yes," he said, in response to something he must have seen in Rachel's eyes. "Now you understand."

Though she felt her body growing rigid and unsure, this time Rachel did not fight him when he drew the blindfold over her eyes. He tied it firmly behind her head, buckled her seatbelt for her, and started the car. The tinted windows of his Range Rover were so dark that Rachel didn't think anyone on the road could even see her in the car, let alone that she was blindfolded. She reached out her right hand, grasping the handle of the door for something steady to hold onto.

Because Jesse was right. It didn't matter that she knew where he was taking her. The moment the car started to move, she lost a great deal of her equilibrium. Not knowing when he would speed up or slow down, or which way they were turning at any given moment, was extremely off-putting. Finally she reached her other hand blindly toward him, latching firmly onto his jean-covered thigh.

"I know you don't like it," Jesse said, his firm, in-control voice back. Rachel felt his hand drop to hers and stroke her fingers smoothly. "You know what I don't like? Having our agreement disregarded."

"I didn't disregard anything!" Rachel protested.

"Oh, no?" They pulled to a stop, and Rachel heard him engage the parking brake. Only then did she relax. They must be at the condo now—surely he would take the blindfold off? "Our agreement was that you come to me every afternoon, right after school."

"I'm not going to my other clubs," Rachel argued, "but I won't skip glee practice! You know how important that is to me, Jesse!"

He didn't answer, but she heard him open his door and get out of the car. Immediately she started to fumble with the knot at the back of her head.

The sound of her door opening made Rachel flinch, and she felt Jesse's hands pulling her grasping fingers away from the blindfold. "Keep it on," he said firmly. "I'm not done with you yet."

The way he said it made Rachel shiver. She wanted to protest as he unbuckled her seatbelt and pulled her out of the Rover and into his arms, but she didn't know what to say. It was an odd sensation—Rachel Berry _never_ lacked for things to say. She grasped his shoulders tightly as he began to walk, ducking her head down into the crook of his neck so any passersby wouldn't see her blindfolded eyes.

"Jesse, I don't - " she tried to object.

"There's no one here," he said, and she felt the change in air temperature as they stepped into the lobby. "It's just you and me."

"What if someone's on the elevator?"

"I'll tell them you're headed for a surprise party."

They reached the condo without incident, and Rachel breathed deeply as Jesse opened the door and stepped inside. The smell of his home was already familiar to her and oddly calming. She held herself to him, feeling the soft tickle of his hair against her fingers as he walked them down the hall and turned left. At least here, she understood what that meant even without her eyes. They were in the bedroom.

"Rachel," he said, and the firm tone of his voice sent tingles down her spine. He lay her on her back on the bed, and it was all she could do not to reach up and struggle with the blindfold. "You questioned a while ago why I wasn't pushing for a more traditional master/slave arrangement. If that's what you want, lovely, I'm happy to oblige."

She wasn't sure what he was talking about until she felt the cold slide of silk against her wrist, pulled tight and then drawn up near the post of his big bed.

If it was anyone else in the world but Jesse, Rachel would have immediately turned into a fighting wildcat, kicking and scratching and attempting to free herself. As it was, she jerked her free hand toward the blindfold in an attempt to at least see what he was doing. But before she could work the cloth off her eyes, he had another cold ribbon of fabric around her wrist and both her hands were incapacitated.

"I don't have the equipment to do this right," Jesse said, stroking his hands down her sides. "I had to improvise with neckties. Don't fret—if this is something we plan to do more often, I'm perfectly happy to invest."

His hands played across her soft stomach, stroking under her shirt and making her skin quiver. Each firm touch of his hands sent electricity sparking along her nerves, even more so because she couldn't see what he was doing. His hands were smooth and sure, and he played her body like a piano, knowing just where to touch to make her skin sing.

"Rachel," he said, finding the zipper of her skirt and drawing it down, "you've unfortunately got yourself into an untenable situation." He pulled her skirt off, running his hand over the silken surface of her lower lips. She exhaled shakily, unsure exactly what he was getting at. "Your orders were to come to me after school _every day_ this week. I thought you understood that." He slid off her socks and shoes, leaving her bare below the waist, and she wasn't entirely surprised when she felt the cool touch of silk around an ankle, drawing her leg out to the side.

"I didn't go to any of my other clubs," Rachel repeated, though that reasoning hadn't seemed to help her much before. "You know glee is important to me."

He didn't answer immediately, but she got the point as he bound her other leg, spreading her wide on the big bed. Her body was beginning to tremble, though she couldn't quite say why. There was a trickle of fear, yes, though she trusted Jesse implicitly. But also...she didn't know. Her nipples were hard, rubbing against the material of her bra, and she shifted slightly, feeling the foreign touch of cool air between her legs.

Jesse stroked her hair, running his hands through the glossy strands, tracing the smooth contours of her face and down the slim slope of her throat. He brushed the lightest of touches over her breasts, making her hiss at the barely-there feeling.

"So hot," he said, unbuttoning her shirt and letting it fall to her sides. She couldn't slide the sleeves off with her arms bound, but Jesse pushed the cups of her bra up, exposing her tight nipples, and she forgot about the shirt almost instantly. His mouth descended, laving with his tongue, drawing his tastebuds agonizingly slowly across the pebbled flesh. She whined, the sound torn from her mouth without her conscious decision, feeling his hand come up to rub and lightly flick the other. "I could listen to you make those noises all day," Jesse murmured. He drew his mouth up the sensitive curve of her throat, grating his teeth along her jawline before kissing her mouth softly.

"Jesse," she breathed into his mouth. "Please." He had barely touched her and she was already wet. _This_ was what she'd been longing for, all day at school. Her body had been on fire, aching for his touch since he had denied it her own, and she wanted to drown in the sensation of his hands stroking her to pleasure. Being bound was...odd, but not wholly unpleasant as long as he kept touching her like that. She pulled on her restraints, wanting to touch him back—to run her hands through his hair and trace her fingers across the taut muscle of his back. But her restraints held firm, giving her a few inches of movement but no more, and she tipped her head toward where she thought his was instead, yearning for another kiss.

"Un-uh, pet," he said, his voice teasing, yet firm. "Who's in charge here? Besides, you're in trouble."

Rachel exhaled impatiently. Why on earth was she in trouble? For going to glee club? Jesse _knew_ how much that meant to her. He couldn't fault her for it, and if he tried she was going to get _pissed off_.

He moved away from her, his touch disappearing, and Rachel listened carefully to the sound of his feet retreating from the bed. He opened a drawer and closed it again quickly, as if he knew exactly what he was reaching for.

"This may or may not be entirely pleasant," he said quietly. "But - "

"You are _not_ going to spank me for going to glee club!" Rachel interrupted, jerking her body away from the sound of his voice.

"Of course not." Jesse sounded mildly indignant. "Give me some credit for originality. Besides, if I wanted to spank you, I'd have tied you face-down."

Rachel felt her heart begin to race as he touched her again, his hand smoothing up her thigh. She heard the snap of a flip-top bottle being opened, and then his other hand slipped a slick liquid between her spread legs, rubbing it gently into her clit.

At first she felt nothing, just the cool, wet sensation of the product against her flesh, his hand disappearing after a moment. He rubbed the heavy liquid on her nipples, pinching lightly as they hardened into flesh-colored pearls.

"You look so hot spread across my bed," he said, his voice dropping to the husky, no-nonsense growl she had only heard him use a few times. Desire flared in her stomach, leeching deep into her bones. God, she loved that voice. "Tied exactly where I want you. You're like smoke sometimes, Rach. You flit, you fly, you're never still. I think I have you, only to find I'm left holding an armful of air. Well, not this time."

"You have me," she whispered shakily, staring into the blackness of the blindfold. Whatever he'd painted her with, it was beginning to feel...odd. Warm and cold at the same time—tingly. Almost as if it vibrated, though she knew that was ridiculous. She frowned, trying to pay attention to the feeling and still listen for the sound of Jesse moving around the room.

"Fuck yes, I do," he agreed. "Tied to my bed. Close to naked, legs spread—perfect."

Rachel swallowed hard. She could hear his voice, but he wasn't touching her. The only thing she felt was the strange, almost minty burn of the product. It tingled on her clit, forcing her nipples to grow even harder. Thoroughly distracted, she wiggled a little. "Oh!"

"Feeling it yet?" Jesse chuckled. He shifted, the sound of fabric hissing against fabric, and then she felt him blow a cool breath between her legs, right on her center. She moaned, unable to help herself, pulling at the silk ties holding her in place.

"Wh...what is it?" she managed to gasp. It was _really_ burning now—cold and hot at the same time, tingling forcefully, the strange buzzing feeling growing stronger every second. Her body broke out in a thin sheen of sweat, her breath catching in her throat.

"It's called On," Jesse said willingly, a satisfied smirk hiding in his voice. She could practically see it, even through the blindfold. "Tell me, does it live up to its name?"

Rachel bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself not to moan again. He wasn't even touching her. But that...that _stuff_ he'd massaged into her girly parts was driving her crazy! It was like the touch of strong mint and cinnamon in her mouth—spicy-cool, tingly, she could practically taste the sensation. Her body, already frustrated from a day at school, a day where Jesse had warned her not to touch herself—which she wouldn't have done anyway, but the lure of the forbidden and the attention he drew to the act made her _want_. And right now she wanted him badly. "Jesse," she pleaded.

"What do you want, pet?"

She bit harder on her cheek. He knew she didn't like that name, and he was teasing her. But right now she didn't care—she wanted to be touched. _Needed_ his hands and mouth on her, cooling down the burn, soothing the ache growing deep in her belly. She was drenched, and she knew it—Jesse probably did, too. "Touch me," she gasped finally, stretching her limbs, trying to find some respite from the incessant burn of the gel against her clit.

"No."

What? She stiffened, narrowing her eyes behind the blindfold.

"You're going to listen to me, and listen good," Jesse said. He took a breath, and she heard the distinct jingle of his belt buckle as he undid it. "Because apparently you didn't understand the first time."

Rachel had no idea what he was talking about. The buzzing burn on her clit and nipples was driving her insane, and he was refusing to make it better. She twisted, trying to find some way to relieve at least a little of the pressure building inside, but it was no use. He'd tied her down too firmly.

"Rachel, this week you belong to _me_," he said. The bed shifted as he sat next to her, but just as he'd promised, she felt no hint of a touch against her shuddering skin. "Jesus, Rach. You really like that stuff. You're dripping wet. That's got to be just about the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Rachel wasn't at all sure she liked it, as a matter of fact. Not if he wasn't going to touch her.

"I know glee club is important to you, baby, but I want you to think about something. Were you rehearsing for an actual performance today? Answer me, Rachel."

"No," Rachel managed to squeak out. She could feel the tightness deep inside begin to wind tighter. It was enough to drive her crazy, but not nearly enough to push her over the edge.

"Invitationals?"

"No."

"Sectionals?"

"No."

"Regionals?"

"No," Rachel admitted. She thought she maybe understood where he was going with this, but her body was distracting her so much that it was hard to know for sure.

"Then, my own, what was the point of going?" The words fell from his mouth one at a time as he hammered the point home. "You do all of your best work away from the others—at practices with paid instructors, and your own time at home. Mr. Schue has _nothing_ to teach you, Rachel. I won't stop you from performing with the group. You know I know how much it means to you. But I won't have them stealing _my_ time with you when they're just going to waste it anyway."

The bed dipped again, and Rachel shuddered as she felt his hot breath against her ear. "I am patient and calculating, Rachel, but I am _not_ good at sharing. You know that."

Yes. Yes, she _did_ know that. And even though her fathers might be enraged at the sentiment, she couldn't help but be incredibly turned on by Jesse's caveman thoughts. He wanted her. _Needed_ her. Hell—he was outright claiming her, in no uncertain terms. And Jesse St. James was selfish and spoiled. He did _not_ react well when someone tried to take something that he wanted.

Right now, that was _her_.

"Touch me, Jesse," she begged, trying to turn her head to kiss him. "Please."

"No," he repeated. He shifted again, and she heard the distinct sound of a zipper lowering. "I'm going to touch myself, and you're going to listen. Maybe next time you'll think twice before trying to take time that rightfully is mine."

Blood rushed to Rachel's face. Not at the chastisement—all in all, he was being a little ridiculous, having a temper tantrum because she'd tried to go to glee club. But the thought of him touching himself right next to her...

"Mmm," he said, the satisfied groan leaving his mouth, and she could picture perfectly his hand wrapped around the thick length of his cock, stroking it. "God, that feels good. I bet you wish you could see it right now, don't you? I'm looking at you tied up on my bed—spread out before me. Fuck! It's like a fantasy come to life. Your nipples are so hard, and the arousal oil makes them gleam. They're like shiny little berries, and you have no idea how badly I want to pop them in my mouth."

Rachel felt her heartbeat speeding up, hearing his heavy breathing and some of the dirtiest things he'd ever said to her. The twisting ache deep inside was growing tighter, stronger, and her clit throbbed in time with her heart. One brush of his fingers and she'd explode like a firework.

"Unh," he grunted. "I want so badly to lube up with _you_. You're leaking like a sieve, doll. Those pretty, bare lips are glistening with it. But you've been a bad slave, trying to deny me what's mine, and how are you ever going to learn if I don't follow through with punishment?"

Oh, god, he was going to make her come with his voice alone.

He swallowed audibly, the sound heavy in a room thick with tension. "I'm right next to the bed," he groaned out, "staring down at you. I'm so hard it hurts—aches. God...fuck...feels so good. Your body feels even better—I know it does. Having you wrapped around me, my body inside yours...there's no comparison. You're so tight, so warm and wet. I could drown in those huge eyes of yours, you know. They give away your emotions every time I look at you."

The creak of the floorboard next to the bed caught Rachel's attention as Jesse exhaled tightly.

"I'm stroking myself with my left hand," he said, giving her a perfect visual. "With my right, I'm reaching out toward you."

_Please_, she begged silently, her skin rippling in anticipation of the touch. _Please, please_!

"I'm not going to touch you. I'm hovering a millimeter away from your gorgeous skin." He breathed again. "Can you feel me? Can you feel the tension? Can you guess where I am?"

Rachel tried. Her whole body was on fire, the arousal gel burning still between her legs and on her nipples, her skin shuddering with the thought of his hand _so close_, so close, and yet she could see none of it.

"I'm hovering over your breasts," he murmured. "Skimming the air, not touching you." Rachel swore she could feel the warmth from his hand, though his skin did not touch hers. "Moving lower—ribs, stomach. You have an adorable navel, has anyone ever told you that? I want to swirl my tongue in that perfect divot, nibble my way down to your hipbone..." He swallowed. "My hand is doing what my mouth can't. I'm hovering between those spread legs—god, you're perfect. So pink...so wet... I want so much to shove a finger or three up inside you. To make you squeal—make you scream my name."

She might anyway, even if he didn't. It was driving her crazy—the arousal gel, the knowledge that his hand was _right there_, even though she couldn't feel it. Her mind, deprived of the senses of touch and sight, was producing sensations she _knew_ weren't really there—phantom touches that only pushed her further toward the edge. A whining keen escaped her throat, a high-pitched plea for mercy.

"I'm gonna come," he said, his voice tight. "I can't help it when I see you like that."

He blew another breath between her legs, and Rachel couldn't contain it anymore. Without so much as a fingertip against her skin, she exploded. Sparks danced behind her eyes, and she felt herself falling off that delicious cliff just as flickers of wetness landed against her belly. She clenched and released, her body tensing and relaxing in waves of pleasure, and she heard Jesse's low groan of _"Fuck_!" as more wetness fell. She had a pretty good idea of what it was, but at the moment she didn't care. He was standing over her, watching her fall apart. She pulled at her bindings, wanting to reach up, to curl around him—to do _something—_but she couldn't move. Her head swam, sensation and deprivation melting into a strange, hazy blur, and she wasn't sure, but she thought she felt tears against her cheeks, wetting the blindfold.

"Shh." Velvet lips touched her forehead, and Rachel flinched. She hadn't expected the sudden touch. "Close your eyes, love."

She obeyed, feeling the soft blindfold being pulled away from her face, and squinted experimentally.

The room was dark, blinds closed, but all she could see was Jesse's face hovering over hers. His eyes were calm as he untied one arm, then the other, smoothing her hair away from her sweaty face. "There's my girl," he murmured, and she melted at the smile that spread across his soft mouth. "Well, that was an experience, huh?"

She nodded wordlessly, raising her arms a little shakily to wind around his shoulders. He was still wearing a black t-shirt, but it was damp to the touch when she ran her hands down his back. It was nice to know she wasn't the only one affected by experiences like the one they'd just shared.

"Are your arms sore?" he asked, helping her into a sitting position before turning to untie her ankles.

Rachel tested the movement of her joints, twisting and rolling her shoulders and wrists, but she was fine. There weren't even marks on her delicate skin, thanks to the soft silk neckties he'd used to bind her. She raised her eyes to his, a little shy now that they were sitting together after an experience like that. Shaking her head to answer him, she wordlessly held out her arms.

Jesse kissed the tender inside of her wrists, his mouth warm velvet against her skin, then drew her against his chest. Rachel let him, snuggling into the warmth of his embrace, wriggling out of her shirt and bra and letting the clothes drop to the floor. He stroked her back with one big hand, his fingers gentle, tracing the line of her spine. "You know I'd have let you go the minute you seriously asked me to, right?" He urged her chin up, willing her to look at him. "But that doesn't mean I'm not serious. It's time to wake up, sweetheart. You need to ask yourself just what you're getting out of that club, and what you're giving it. You're a rational person. What would you tell me if I were part of a group that never took me seriously? That wasted my time on nonsense touchy-feely lessons instead of serious rehearsal?"

Rachel ducked her head into Jesse's shoulder. She knew exactly what he was saying and, in a way, she did understand. But she also...glee club was one of the only places in school where she felt like she almost could belong. Like her peers _were_ her peers. They snubbed her a great deal of the time, but through sheer perseverance she was building relationships with at least some of them. Kurt. Noah. Dear god, even Santana, though she did not trust her. That wasn't something she could just give up on. Neither was New Directions as a whole. _She'd_ been the one to get Sandy Ryerson fired. In a way, that made her responsible for New Directions. It made her that much more intent on keeping the group together, making it a viable, competitive team regardless of how much Mr. Schuester wanted to be all about self-esteem and empowerment.

"You said you wouldn't push me, Jesse," she said, mumbling the words against his shirt. Besides, what was he really saying? If she quit glee club, there was no replacement. He knew there was too much bad blood between her and Vocal Adrenaline for her to ever change teams, and no one else in the area was even remotely good enough to deserve her.

"I said nothing of the sort," Jesse retorted, though his arms around her remained exceedingly gentle. "In fact, I remember saying that I _would_ push you. I will test your boundaries, make no mistake about that."

"Not about that," Rachel said, feeling heat dance in her cheeks. "About glee—school—that kind of stuff. You said you would help me."

"And I will. The final choice about your present and your future is for _you_ to make. I can't do it for you. But I want you to think about it, considering all the angles. I need you to be sure."

Fair enough. Rachel was pretty sure she could live with that.

"You _also_ said there would be no sex until after we'd completed our homework for the day," she said, raising an amused eyebrow at him.

Jesse raised one right back. "Sex? What sex? As I recall, I didn't lay a finger on you."

And he was right. Rachel scowled as he chuckled and kissed her forehead. "Come on, diva," he said. "Let's have a shower before we get to work."


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: So, who missed me? ;-) I know, I know. I always promise I'll do better and then, somehow, it doesn't happen. Anyway, this chapter is some nice smut for you, and the next chapter is full of drama! Yay drama!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

><p><strong>Dare<strong>

The video was coming along nicely. By the end of the day, they had the choreography completely figured out and had even gone prowling through some of Lima's secondhand stores looking for bits of Rachel's costume that she didn't already have at her house. Several run-throughs later, Rachel was satisfied that this was going to be _epic_. Jesse had an eye for the dramatic that lent itself well to bringing out the darker themes of the song, and he considered all her ideas carefully...unlike some people she could name. She was so caught up in their work that she almost didn't want to stop when Jesse said it was far past dinner time.

Almost.

Except, it wasn't food she wanted.

She leaned against the kitchen counter, watching him rummage in a cabinet, searching for culinary inspiration. His black jeans hugged his ass just right, his slim, well-muscled back beautiful under the thin material of his t-shirt. He was everything she'd ever wanted in a man, she realized with a start. Everything she needed in a partner—everything that Finn could never be. Deviously intelligent. Intensely creative. Respectful and supportive of her dreams.

The fact that his body made her blood sing didn't hurt, either.

Her fathers had never urged her to settle down with a "nice Jewish boy," and, being who and what they were, they supported her choice to love whomever she loved. Because Jesse had hurt her before it would probably take them a little while to accept that he was back in her life, but she trusted that, in time, they would see what she was just now beginning to understand. Jesse was her lover. Her equal. The only one who could ever make her feel like this. In New York or London she might find a man with similar drive or talent, but she refused to believe she would ever find someone who could understand and accept her as fully as Jesse did.

"How do you feel about artichoke hearts?" Jesse asked, voice muffled by the door of the cabinet.

She liked them just fine, actually, but there was something else she wanted just now.

Stepping forward, she could feel her heart beating hard against her ribs. Her hands needed to touch him. Her mouth yearned for his kiss. When he'd refused to touch her before...yes, it was hot, but it was also unfulfilling. She wanted the touch of his hands, the slide of his body against hers.

"Rachel?" he prompted.

Master he may be for the week, but that didn't mean she couldn't take the initiative, Rachel decided. She took three steps forward and slid her arms around him, nuzzling her face into the back of his shirt.

She felt his warm chuckle as much as heard it. "Hi," he said, his body leaning back slightly against hers. She could feel the curve of his muscled ass against her abdomen.

Without waiting for him to question her motives, Rachel slid her hands lower, finding the button of his jeans. With her right she deftly undid it while her left slipped lower, palming him firmly.

The groan that left his mouth made everything worth it. The sound rocked her body, shivering through her. "Careful, Rach," he warned. "You're playing with fire."

"Maybe I want to get burned." She whispered the words into his back even as she drew his zipper down and reached inside.

"Fuck..." He tensed, his head falling back slightly, but didn't make a move to stop her. Rachel's hand slipped into his boxers to find his rapidly hardening length, smooth and hot against her palm. He hadn't tasted bad when she slid him in her mouth before. Rachel wondered if he'd ask her to do it again. She kind of wanted to.

But before she could make up her mind, Jesse apparently had other ideas. He pulled her stroking hand away from his cock, then spun quickly around. His hands were on her waist and an instant later Rachel found herself sitting on the counter with a stormy-eyed Jesse between her legs for the second time that week.

His mouth reached for hers, stealing her breath, sucking it from her as he kissed her hard. One hand found a breast and kneaded firmly as the other arm wrapped around her, holding her tight.

"You're mine," he growled. That silky-smooth voice of his was capable of expressing so many emotions. Right now all Rachel could hear was desire—desire for _her_. It made her heart pound harder in her chest.

"I'm the first to ever get your body. I'll be the last to get your heart."

When he talked like that, Rachel didn't dare argue with him.

He shucked off his jeans and boxers with frantic movements even as Rachel stubbornly kept her mouth on his as much as she could. Her fingers tore at his shirt, pulling it over his head, hands grasping for smooth, warm skin over tensing muscle. More. Closer. _Now_. She was not ordinarily a terribly patient girl, and apparently her libido was no different.

"Jesse..." There was that strange voice again, the one that sounded like hers but not, the one that only appeared at moments like this. "Jesse, please..." _Please, please, please_...

He bit down on her lip just as he got the final button on her blouse free, and it joined his clothes on the floor. She unclasped her bra, and Jesse's mouth closed around a tight, throbbing nipple even as the shoulder strap tangled on her elbow. _Yesss..._ her body hissed. Yes, this was good. His tongue swirled around the berry-colored flesh, then flicked deliciously. Rachel threaded her fingers in his silky hair, holding his head close, her legs winding around the hard line of his body. Little pleading whimpers left her mouth without her conscious control.

Jesse scraped his teeth against her sensitive flesh, making her cry out in surprised pleasure. His hands were both around her now, arms hard, and he slid them to firmly cup her ass even as he pulled, sliding her off the counter and into his arms. She was bare under her miniscule skirt, as per his directions, and she cried out again as flesh met flesh. Her clit throbbed, aching for his touch, and she ground herself against him with her strong muscles.

"Every...surface...in this...fucking...place," he groaned between licks and nibbles at her skin. "I swear...to god, Rach."

Yeah, that was definitely hot as hell.

Jesse spun them around, backing her against the wall near the door. Rachel felt cool painted drywall on her back and she shivered even as Jesse warmed her front.

"Please," she moaned, pressing harder against him. God, she needed him. She'd beg if she had to.

"God, yes." Now that she was propped against the wall, Jesse didn't have to support her whole weight with his arms. He slipped a hand between them, sliding against her wet flesh. Rachel keened, pleading as his fingers slowly teased her clit, rolling the sensitive flesh along his fingertips, pressing just enough to make her writhe, the ache increasing with each movement. She wanted...everything. All he could give her. More. _Now_.

"Trust me." His voice was muffled by her skin. "I'll make it so, so good for you."

Had that ever been in doubt? Rachel moaned as his hand shifted, his thumb teasing her clit with delicious little circles as his index and middle fingers probed gently. She was wet and ready—so ready—and his fingers slid inside her without resistance. Rachel swore she almost purred at the sensation, her body giving way, his fingers reaching deep.

"I can feel you...all around me." Jesse exhaled a damp, ragged breath against her collarbone. His fingers curled, rubbing a spot inside that made her body sing.

"Don't hold back," he groaned. "I want the neighbors to hear you."

Considering Rachel's lungs, the neighbors had probably already heard her. Perhaps oddly, she found that she didn't care. She moved on his fingers, arching her back against the wall, mewling when his mouth traveled down her sternum and his teeth found a nipple. God, yes, this was exactly what she wanted. His whole attention, his body flush with hers—seeking, needing.

"So good," she breathed, her voice high and trembling. "Jesse..."

"Come for me," he urged. "I want you to come on my fingers."

His thumb pushed against her clit, swirling, flicking with an intense sort of fluttery pressure, and Rachel felt herself fall over the edge. Her body clamped down, her legs holding her to Jesse, her internal muscles seizing his still-moving hand, bearing down.

"Fuck," he groaned, but she hardly heard him. His thumb was still swirling, his body pinning hers tight against the wall. She shook, her body seizing against his with little jerky motions, her cries building in volume, but still he didn't stop.

"Jesse," she gasped, "oh, god, oh..."

And then she was without words. She came again, stronger and harder than the first time, her mind blanking of everything except the feel of his body on her, in her...surrounding her.

The wall disappeared from her back a moment after Jesse withdrew his hand, but Rachel only vaguely registered the motion. He was holding her up as she sagged against him, his hands cupping her ass, his skin slick-sliding on hers with each step. A brief moment of movement, and then Rachel felt something soft at her back. Opening dazed eyes, she watched as Jesse opened the drawer of his nightstand, withdrew a condom, and rolled it on. Her body buzzed with the rush of endorphins, limp, liquid—exhausted. Even so, she felt a little thrill as Jesse pushed her legs open and hovered over her.

"Mine," he ground out—not the first time he'd used that sentiment. She felt the tip of his cock against her wet, swollen flesh, and then the delicious ache as he pushed inside.

His eyes were stormy cobalt, dark with an almost feral need, and Rachel only had a moment to stare before his mouth was on hers, hard and insistent. There was something sharp-sweet about his kisses even when they weren't gentle, and Rachel surrendered to the overwhelming sensation of it all. She was moaning with each thrust, her cries rising in pitch. If the neighbors couldn't hear the headboard knocking against the wall, they surely heard the noises coming from her mouth.

Shifting his body, Jesse entered her at a new angle and slipped a hand between them, rubbing hard at her clit.

"I can't...again," she gasped, chest heaving. Her body was a hot, sweaty puddle, muscles spent. She couldn't possibly come again.

The familiar mocking smirk flashed across Jesse's lips, and Rachel knew instantly that he'd taken her words as a dare.

His body shifted again, and he threw one of her flexible legs over his shoulder. In this position he somehow managed to reach even deeper, and Rachel's world went hazy around the edges. Was that...could he really...

"Come for me one more time," he ground out. "Take me with you."

Yes, apparently he could. _She_ could.

Utter bliss. Rachel surrendered fully to the force of it, drowning, slipping under with the taste of Jesse on her tongue.

* * *

><p>Moments or eons later, Rachel didn't know, her skin shuddered as something tickled it.<p>

"Go 'way," she mumbled. Her body was exhausted—the good, loose kind of exhausted that meant she'd put it through a workout.

The tickle didn't go away. Rachel raised a sluggish arm to swat at it and her hand met soft, curly hair. "Jesse?"

"Hi," he said. "Fuck, you really know how to distract a guy."

"Mmm. I try." She smiled and rolled from her side to her back, opening her eyes to a beautiful sight. Jesse was clad only in his boxers, his curly hair in wild disarray, the dark storm now gone from his gorgeous eyes. Long eyelashes fluttered against his skin as he blinked.

"Do me a favor?"

Rachel nodded without hesitation. The step forward in her trust of him went unnoticed.

"Please feel free to distract me like that any time. _All_ the time."

She grinned, the smile wide and somewhat foolish. "I'll keep that in mind." Her hand reached out to touch his skin, lingering along his cheek and the angular line of his jaw. My god, she thought, this boy was pretty. He wouldn't thank her for the sentiment so she didn't voice it, but she couldn't help how she felt. Maybe when he grew older he might evolve handsomeness, but for now he was just plain beautiful.

"But for now..." His face settled into something that resembled regret. "Baby, I'm sorry, but it's getting close to your weekday curfew. As much as I wish you could stay right there in my bed all night, I think it's probably best to listen to your dads on this one."

Rachel pouted. She rolled toward Jesse and buried her head in his pillow, wishing she could stay. For a moment she seriously considered defying her fathers' edict...but, no. They gave her a lot of leeway, and she didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that. Besides, they already didn't like Jesse because of his disappearing act last year, and because he was older. He didn't need another strike against him in their eyes.

"I don't want to go," she mumbled into the pillow, breathing in the scent of clean cotton and skin.

"Well," Jesse said, a glimmer of humor in his eyes, "you can't just walk out the door looking like _that_, so you'll have to spend some time cleaning up first. I don't think your dads would appreciate it if you came home looking like you've been fucked."

"Even if I have?" Rachel added with a wry smile.

"_Especially_ if you have."

Since Jesse was, unfortunately, right, Rachel consented to get out of bed. She used the bathroom to clean up a little, brushing out her hair and wiping away the lingering telltale wetness. There was nothing she could do about her dark, swollen lips, but she hoped her dads would chalk it up to nothing more than a makeout session if they noticed. She masked the smell of sex with a spritz of body spray, knowing that if she took the time to shower at Jesse's condo she'd never make it home by curfew. Not with the way he reacted to her naked body.

"I'm not saying you look bad now," Jesse said when she emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed. "But you looked _so_ much sexier before."

"I wasn't wearing anything before."

"Yeah," he agreed with a flash of his familiar mocking smirk. "That's kind of the point."

She stuck her tongue out at him before slinging her bag over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry I didn't feed you," Jesse said regretfully, glancing at the still-open cabinet in the kitchen.

"Oh, you did." Rachel took the hand he offered, squeezing it tightly. She hadn't been hungry for food, anyway. He'd given her what she wanted most.

Jesse turned to her, his eyes darkening slightly. "You know me well enough by now to understand that I'm serious, don't you? About what I said before. You need to give some serious thought to how you spend your time, and where, and with whom. I'm not some misogynistic jackass, and I'm not going to order you to do anything. But you need to understand, Rachel. You need to make that choice consciously instead of just going along with the group because you think you can't find better. You deserve so much more than they're willing to give you. I can't and won't make you quit glee club, and I won't pressure you to change schools. But I need to know that, whatever choice you make, you seriously think about it first."

"Okay," Rachel whispered. He wasn't asking for anything ridiculous. In fact, it was something she ought to have done to begin with. It was for her own good, after all. Still, the thought of really sitting down and thinking about her options, weighing the benefits of her current glee club against its cons...it made her uncomfortable. She was smart, savvy, and knew what she wanted. So why was it so difficult to confront this one aspect of her life?

"You promise?" Jesse asked, his hand tightening on hers. He reached up with his other hand, tracing the shell of her ear, the line of her jaw. "You can consider it one of your tasks for the week if you like."

"I promise," Rachel agreed. "But, Jesse, I really think I do want to go to Planned Parenthood tomorrow after school. Are you going to get mad at me for that?"

"No. Why would I? It's for my benefit as much as yours." He smiled. "I'll be here ready and waiting when you're done. I think I'm going to go bully the Carmel High jazz band to lay down instrumentals for us while you're at school."

"I still don't understand how this video is going to help me become popular," Rachel said. "But I trust you, Jesse."

The smile that curved his pink lips was beautiful. "I'm glad," he said. "Don't worry. Your phantom still has a few tricks up his sleeve."

She didn't doubt that for a moment.

* * *

><p>"Rachel, can we talk to you for a moment?"<p>

"What's up, daddy?" She entered the living room with her hands cupped around a mug of herbal tea. Her dads hadn't said anything to her when she came home just before curfew, and she'd gone right upstairs to shower and change into pajamas. Now she wondered if they had really just been lying in wait, judging the opportune moment to pounce.

Her fathers were good people and wonderful parents. They loved her; she knew they did. They only wanted the best for her, which was why, she knew, they were leery of Jesse. From their point of view, she admitted, they had every right to be wary. Though they didn't know the whole story about what had happened last year, they knew she had been hurt and they knew Jesse was involved. How could they not worry, now that he was back?

Slipping into a chair, Rachel regarded her fathers. They didn't look angry, she decided. Maybe a little...resigned?

"You're not in trouble." Hiram was the first to speak. Leroy shifted as if he wanted to disagree with that statement, but he didn't speak. Rachel recognized the silent body language between the two men: they had obviously talked a lot about this while she was with Jesse. "But we have some concerns, honey, and we want to talk to you about them."

"Why weren't you honest with us about where you were going?" Leroy broke in. "I thought we could trust you, Rachel. If you needed support, why didn't you come get _us_?"

Rachel dropped her eyes. It was a valid question, and her dads had every right to ask it. "I'm sorry," she offered. "I know I could have come to you, but I just..." Her voice trailed off; she wasn't sure she had the words to explain it. "I think I love him, daddy," she whispered.

"Last week you thought you loved Finn."

"I didn't!" Rachel shook her head. "It's not like that! I...I wanted Finn. I wanted to have him, and I wanted him to like me. But once I got what I wanted, I realized it wasn't...I just..." She sighed. "It's always been Jesse, dad."

Hiram offered her a wan smile. "You know we're not going to forbid you to see him. We don't work that way, and you're old enough to make your own choices. But when I asked you yesterday about whether you were being safe, I didn't just mean with your body. I meant with your heart, Rachel. We know you didn't tell us the whole truth about why he left, and that's okay. You're free to keep private things private. But neither of us want to see history repeat itself. You were miserable for the end of the school year and part of the summer and when you hurt, we hurt. Can you tell us for sure that you trust him? That, whatever happened, it won't end up the same way a second time?"

"Yes," Rachel said. She didn't need to wonder about this. "We both made mistakes last time—mistakes we won't make again. I can't promise where this is going, but I _can_ promise that I'm being careful. And I trust Jesse."

"_Are_ you being careful with your body?" Leroy broke in. "You know I'm not happy about my fifteen-year-old daughter having sex, especially with someone who's legally an adult, but daddy H says you have to make your own choices about that. Tell me that you're at least being careful."

"Yes, daddy," Rachel said quickly. "I'm going to Planned Parenthood tomorrow after school." Her face burned, but she schooled her expression. Her dads were just looking out for her. They had a right to ask.

Her fathers glanced at each other and Rachel could tell that, while they didn't particularly care for that answer, they weren't going to argue with her about it. She was technically below Ohio's age of consent, but her dads knew that she was old for her age. She trusted them not to haul Jesse off to jail for statutory rape.

"Just remember that no birth control method is one hundred percent effective," Hiram said, cutting off whatever Leroy might have wanted to say. "If you ever find yourself...in trouble..."

"In trouble?" Rachel managed to laugh. "Daddy, this isn't 1950. And I promise, I'll come to you if I need to. But we're careful, and I trust Jesse."

"We just want to make sure that you understand. No matter how in love you think you are, a baby at your age would ruin all your dreams for the future."

"I know. A life of normal domesticity isn't for me, and Jesse understands that. His goals are the same as mine."

"Heaven help us, then." Hiram chuckled. "The world will never be the same once you two are unleashed on it."

"Let's hope not." Rachel smiled at her dads. "You two are great, you know that?"

"Oh, we suspected." Leroy rolled his eyes. "Keep your grades up, mind your curfew, and don't get pregnant. Otherwise you're grounded for life. Got it?"

"I think I can handle that."

"Then go to bed. We'll see you in the morning. Oh, and try to convince your teachers that you haven't been attacked, please? We got another phone call today."

Rachel grimaced. "I'll do my best," she promised. Tomorrow, Finn was going _down_.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I love you guys, and I promise I haven't abandoned anything, I'm just trying to juggle two fandoms right now, plus two jobs, a kid, and the vestiges of a social life. Please don't pester me about updating; it will happen when it happens. I appreciate all your kind words more than I can say! Mwah! Loves you, duckies!_

_I'm also on twitter (at judo_lin) and I have a brand-new blog for (mostly) fanfiction stuff, so come say hi to me there. :-) dconioned dot blogspot dot com._


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Hi guys! Surprised to see me so soon? I have to say, I'm on a roll with this one! Already working on the next chapter. See, the thing is, I originally didn't plan to end where I did. But then it was such a great cliffie that I couldn't resist. I know how much y'all like cliffies, amirite? ;-)_

_Much love to northstar61 and michemistic. Maybe this birthday present will be done by your NEXT birthday, bb? _

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

><p><strong>Dare<strong>

The problem with planning someone's imminent demise, Rachel realized when she got to school the next day, was that he actually had to show up for it and, once again, Finn had failed to come to school.

To say she was furious was an understatement. Rachel Berry knew plenty of words to describe anger, and this definitely—_definitely_—topped fury. Finn had started this whole mess—in more ways than one. He'd pushed her into volunteering for that stupid charity auction by disapproving of it. He'd ignored her when she went to his house to talk. Then, after all that, he'd tattled to Mr. Schue and spun some story about Jesse—who he didn't know was Jesse—raping her. Really, she thought, it took some nerve to then crawl into hiding and not let her say her piece. If she had to, she'd go to his house after school. Jesse couldn't be mad at her for that, since it was, after all, to his benefit. And if Finn was too chicken shit to open the door, that was fine. She had a good set of lungs and knew how to use them.

In Spanish class, Mr. Schue kept casting sympathetic looks her way. Rachel did her best to ignore them. Fuck that—and if Jesse heard the sort of language she was using in her head, he'd be proud that he was rubbing off on her. But honestly, she'd had it with her choir director. He couldn't care less about what she felt when something really _did_ bother her, so why should she be polite now, when he was wrong? If she weren't so rational—and she was willing to admit to not feeling particularly rational at times—she'd think he actually _liked_ seeing her unhappy in glee club. Like he purposefully made decisions he _knew_ would displease her, as if he thought it would teach her some sort of valuable lesson about playing nice with her peers.

Blinking slowly, Rachel worried her lower lip between her teeth as she considered those admittedly shocking thoughts. Where had that come from? She didn't really think Mr. Schuester would do that...did she? Deliberately upset her, supposedly for her own good?

No, she decided quickly. No; she was clearly reading too much into his unsatisfactory leadership—probably at least partially because of Jesse's demand that she really think about how she spent her time.

That was one of the best, and worst, things about Jesse St. James. He wasn't afraid to tackle sensitive subjects, and he asked probing, direct questions that sometimes led to wonderful revelations...and sometimes to disturbing ones. Rachel was afraid that, in this particular instance, it would be the latter. Jesse had an uncanny ability to ferret out the deeper truths behind seemingly mundane or innocent circumstances. He read people like books, and his interpretive abilities were sometimes frightening. When he turned that skill on a song or character or even another person, it was a wonder to behold. When he turned it on her, however...

That was different.

And besides, she didn't have time to think about that today. Her place at this school, in this glee club, would have to wait for analysis because today she only had two things on her mind: birth control, and making Finn regret he'd ever opened his big mouth.

Mr. Schuester, however, had other plans.

"Rachel," he called when the bell rang, releasing them from Spanish class, "can I see you for a minute?"

She steeled herself, feeling her spine stiffen as she gathered her things. Of course he'd bug her again today. Of _course_ he had to bring everything up again when all she wanted was to be left alone.

"Rachel," her teacher said when the classroom was empty, "how are you doing?"

"I heard you called my dads again yesterday." No way was she letting him get the upper hand in this conversation, even if he _was_ her teacher. "Really, it's not necessary. I'm fine, and I keep trying to tell you that. Why won't you listen?"

Schue's big eyes were compassionate as he came around his desk and sat on the edge of it, his hands cupping the ledge at his sides. "Rachel, something happened the other day. Finn knows it, you know it, and I know it. You can't just push it aside and pretend you're fine. Life doesn't work that way."

"I _am_ fine!" Rachel insisted, fighting the urge to stamp her foot petulantly. She wasn't a child anymore, and she couldn't afford childish shows of temper. Not if she expected to be taken seriously. "I wasn't attacked and everything's fine except my idiot boyfriend ignoring me and then spreading rumors that aren't even true!"

"Finn cares about you, Rachel. He's just trying to look out for you."

"If he cared about me," she said, schooling her voice to something reasonably calm, "he wouldn't have sent me away when I wanted to talk to him. And he wouldn't have run tattling to you and Miss Pillsbury, foisting me off on you instead of talking to me himself."

Mr. Schuester raised one hand to rub his face. "You're upset right now, but someday you'll realize that he told an adult because he cares about you. That's what we're here for. Whatever it is that boy did to you, you don't have to face it alone."

"My dads believe me." Rachel eyed her teacher, wondering if even this argument meant anything to him. "Didn't they tell you they believed me that nothing was wrong?"

"How can I put this...delicately?" He rubbed his palms together nervously. "Your dads love you. _More_ than love you."

"They've known me all my life, which is a lot longer than you have," Rachel broke in. She didn't know where he was going with this, and she didn't particularly want to find out. "They know me."

"Yes, you've been with them a long time," Mr. Schuester agreed. "And sometimes with fathers and daughters...well..." He searched for the right words, indecision and discomfort plain on his face. "What I mean to say is, sometimes dads can be good at only hearing what they want to hear, and daughters can be good at...making that easier for them."

Rachel couldn't believe what she was hearing. She folded her arms squarely over her chest and leveled her teacher with her best outraged expression. "You think I'm lying to my dads. You think I'm manipulating them and they're falling for it just because they trust me!" Her choir director had insulted her many times before, but this was perhaps the worst accusation he'd ever flung at her. "My dads trust me because I've never given them a reason not to—including now!"

"Rachel..." Mr. Schuester put his hands out in a conciliatory gesture, but Rachel was done. She'd heard all she was willing to hear, and he could find someone else to pity if he wanted to play at being a concerned teacher. She grabbed her bag and left the classroom as quickly as she could.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day didn't go much better. Rachel's mind kept flitting from one topic to another, none of which included her actual schoolwork. It was a good thing she was ahead in almost every class, because in that respect the day was a total wash.<p>

Jesse. Planned Parenthood. Finn.

It all coalesced into a vague sort of impatience, though Rachel honestly couldn't fully explain exactly what she was impatient about. The clinic visit made her a little nervous, but she wasn't terribly anxious about it, she didn't think. Planned Parenthood wasn't open late on Thursdays so she planned to go there first, then deal with Finn. Ever responsible, she called them between classes and made sure she didn't need an appointment—they assured her that if all she wanted was birth control, a copy of her last physical and a quick test to make sure she wasn't already pregnant would suffice.

Should she feel more nervous about this? Rachel didn't know. It felt like a big step, yes—even bigger than actually losing her virginity, since Jesse hadn't given her much warning about that. There was no time to think, only to react.

As she sat aimlessly doodling in her math class, though—having completed the week's assignments already—she had time to wonder about this next step. Going on the Pill meant that sex with Jesse wasn't just a one time (or three or four time, she amended) thing. It meant that she was committing, somehow, to this relationship. To trying once again to be with him both physically and emotionally.

She'd admitted to her fathers the night before that she thought she might be in love with him, and now, surrounded by her so-called peers who were all wrapped up in their own little lives, she took the opportunity to really question what that meant.

Jesse wanted her back. He wanted her in a very real, very possessive and permanent way. He'd said he was giving her this week to be conflicted, and the week was almost up. If she knew anything about her phantom, she knew that he did not share well. Not the spotlight, and not his girl. If she wanted to keep him in her life, she had to take another final step and break up with Finn.

The question was, could she do it?

Finn was the shiny object she'd been striving for, for...longer than she cared to remember. Even during her brief attempt at a relationship with Puck, it was Finn she fantasized about. Jesse was the only boy who had ever been able to push those thoughts aside.

So what did that mean?

Was she truly ready to say goodbye to that person, the girl she'd been for so long? Was she ready to give up the safety she felt at being Finn's girl—still side-eyed by the popular kids, but no longer slushied on a daily basis? Was she willing to give all that up, not to mention possibly ruin her chemistry with her glee club duet partner, for the sake of stormy blue eyes and a mocking smirk? It was...a lot to ask.

She mulled it over on the drive to Planned Parenthood, her quick consultation with a doctor, and the irritating-but-necessary pregnancy test. All in all, it was a fairly painless process. Nobody looked at her with judgment because she wanted birth control. Nobody made her feel like a whore or a horrible person for being sexually active. The doctor even congratulated her on being responsible about her sex life, and the woman at the dispensary window urged her to take as many free condoms as she wanted, reminding her once again that she should use alternate protection for the first month, just in case. Rachel took a few, even though Jesse always seemed to be prepared. Their problem wasn't so much a lack of protection, but the lack of patience to grab it.

The little white paper bag with her new prescription made Rachel feel ridiculously grown-up and responsible. This was something she was doing for Jesse, yes, but also for herself. For them, together. After the first month, they wouldn't be limited to times when Jesse happened to have protection nearby. They wouldn't have any more scares like her first time. She smiled as the paper bag in her hand rustled. This was a kind of freedom, in a way. And even though her fathers obviously didn't like the thought of her having sex, at least they trusted that she was being responsible.

Rachel took a deep breath of fall air as she left the building and headed for her car. The feeling of accomplishment faded a little as she moved on to the next item on her to-do list.

Finn.

Except, she couldn't decide exactly what to tell him. During the school day, she had finally accepted the fact that she needed to break up with him. There was no other way to keep Jesse in her life, and she wasn't willing to give him up. So...a breakup with Finn. This was honestly something she had never, ever foreseen—she'd always kind of assumed, deep in that part of her where her insecurities lay, that Finn would be the one to eventually end it. Her more fanciful thoughts had centered around a happily ever after with her too-tall boyfriend—kids with brown eyes and a knack for sports _and_ the arts.

But now?

Rachel had once thought growing up meant giving up on the idea of a fairy tale. She'd taken Finn's treatment, his disapproval of so many parts of her, because she thought everything Jesse showed her had been a lie. She couldn't explain just how her phantom had managed to change her mind—not to mention her heart—in less than a week. But then, he _was_ Jesse St. James. Very little seemed to be impossible for him. And maybe, maybe the task wasn't as difficult as she assumed. It was entirely possible, though she hated to admit it, that her heart had never wavered at all. That, despite everything, she'd never really stopped loving him. If that was the case, then this impending breakup was inevitable. Finn had lost before he even started playing the game.

Still, how was she supposed to tell him that? Finn didn't do subtle, as she'd learned from many a hint he'd failed to notice. And what would his reaction be? Would he even care? After the way he dismissed her when she went to his house, and then her punch to his face, maybe he just assumed that that was it—that they were done. But what if he didn't? What if he thought she'd been brainwashed or something by the guy he thought raped her? What if he thought that was the only reason she wanted to break up with him? Would he do more than just tattle to Mr. Schue? Would he...oh, god, what if he did something that forced Jesse to reveal himself before he wanted to? The results could be disastrous for both of them.

This was a situation, she decided, that she couldn't just rush into without a plan. She needed to know what she would tell Finn, and how, and plan for all contingencies. A good performer was always prepared, and this situation called for extra preparation. She couldn't just rush into breaking up with him. She needed a plan.

And, because she thought best while her hands were busy, Rachel decided to head home. The next thing on her to-do list—other than seeing Jesse, of course—was re-shaving now that a couple of days had passed and she could feel the start of stubble returning. It didn't itch too badly yet, but she had to admit that she kind of liked the feeling of being bare. Jesse had liked it, too, if she read his cues correctly. For now, she thought she'd keep it.

Her dads weren't home, which relieved Rachel. They respected her privacy, but she didn't want any interruptions during her first solo attempt at this delicate procedure.

Santana had told her to shave in the bath. Rachel stood in front of the tub, head cocked to the side, considering the clean white porcelain. Realistically, she was going to have to shower after seeing Jesse later. Without fail this week he'd left her wet and sticky, hair in disarray. And, if that was the case, she didn't particularly want to climb into the tub now. It felt like not only a waste of water, but a waste of her time. Why should she clean now when she _knew_ she was just going to get sweaty again later?

The bathroom floor didn't look inviting either, despite the fact that it had worked just fine when Santana did it. She chewed on her lower lip, casting her eyes around for a better place.

Her bed caught her eye. She could spread a towel on the bedding to catch any stray water, and she'd have plenty of room to sprawl if shaving on her own required any odd contortions. Pleased with her decision, she laid out everything she would need—towels, a new razor, peach-scented shaving gel, a little cup of warm water on her nightstand, and a warm, wet washcloth. She stripped out of all her clothes except her bra, climbed on the bed, and settled the washcloth in the junction between her legs, just as she'd been shown. Her flesh was still tender after the forceful way Jesse had taken her last night, but she savored the small physical reminder. He made her skin sing when he touched her, and she never wanted that feeling to dissipate.

She pressed her fingers slowly against her flesh, testing the ache. It wasn't bad—certainly nothing she'd go so far as to call pain. Her body knew it had been worked, that was all, and there wasn't anything wrong with that. In fact, the extra sensitivity felt pretty good. Even her fingertips brushing between her legs felt good. Her body relaxed into the mattress as she moved her hand slowly, touching her own body for the first time, besides a quick wash, since Jesse had taken her virginity. Did she expect to feel different, physically? Her body felt the same under her seeking fingertips, just as it always had. Soft folds of skin hiding a tender, moist pinkness that darkened as she touched herself. She relaxed further into the pillows on her bed, drawing her fingers higher, finding her clit—also sensitive, but more than willing to play.

Jesse would have to be gentler with her tonight, she thought dreamily as her fingers teased languidly between her legs. Her body couldn't take yesterday's intensity twice in a row. She imagined his glittering blue eyes, dark with desire. How he'd touch her so gently, so sweetly, coaxing pleasure from her body rather than demanding. Every touch he gave her was perfect, and—

Rachel's hand froze.

He'd told her not to touch herself—was that edict still in place? Or had it only been for the one day?

_How would he know, either way?_ a devious voice in her head tried to say, but her hand fell from its soft, sweet strokes anyway. No. If Jesse dared her to do something, she couldn't back out of that. She _wouldn't_. He'd see. She was just as capable of this as she was of everything else.

What she wasn't capable of, she soon learned, was thinking about her Finn problem while she was mostly naked.

She tried, she really did. The whole point of coming home instead of going to see Finn right away was to give her time to plan. But bare skin meant Jesse, not Finn, and she couldn't make her mind focus as she spread shaving gel on the area to be shaved.

Carefully she lathered every area that felt slightly scratchy, and smoothed the razor delicately across her flesh. After a few swipes she grew more confident—it wasn't as simple as shaving her legs, but it wasn't as bad as she had assumed. Smiling softly, she finished and used the washcloth to wipe away all remaining lather. Santana had pushed her in a shower to clean up a little after shaving, but Rachel could wait. This multiple-showers-a-day thing was getting kind of old.

Using a little lotion, Rachel smoothed her hands over the newly-shaved area. Her skin was deliciously sensitive, velvety soft and sleek just as it had been when Santana shaved her, and she hadn't nicked herself once. It felt really, really good. She wondered if Jesse would feel a difference when he touched her. His touch wasn't even an "if" in her mind—not with the way he seemed to crave sex.

Not that she minded.

The sudden click of her door latch turning made Rachel's head jerk up. Her eyes grew wide and her heart stuttered as a tall figure—one she hadn't in her wildest dreams expected—walked into the room.

She and Finn stared at each other, neither speaking. Rachel felt her chest heave with a stuttering breath, acutely aware of the fact that she wore nothing but a hot pink bra—and that her face might rival the color of that garment at the moment. Finn's brown eyes were huge, white sclera completely surrounding the dark iris. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out.

Rachel found herself, for one of the first times in her life, struck dumb. She couldn't move; couldn't speak. This was so not how their confrontation was supposed to go! She was supposed to choose the time and place, confronting Finn when _she_ had the upper hand! She was supposed to tell him exactly what she thought in no uncertain terms, and to hell with his reactions...as long as said reactions didn't include claiming she'd been brainwashed or hypnotized or something like that.

But no. He was here, in her bedroom, and she was virtually naked. Her mouth almost wanted to curve into a mirthless smile. He knew where the key to the house was hidden. He could easily see her car alone in the driveway and know that she was home by herself.

"You're not sick," she finally managed to squeak. It was a stupid thing to say. She already knew he wasn't sick. He'd been hiding from her.

Finn swallowed hard. His mouth worked but still no sound came out. He stumbled forward a step, then another.

She didn't know. There was no way she could have predicted his intentions. But his hand twitched and then, suddenly, it was on her. Fingers rough and callused from football and the gym rasped against tender, newly-shaven flesh, and she winced as a squeak escaped her. Three rapid, out of sync heartbeats thudded in her chest as his hand touched her outer lips.

It felt so...strange. So, so different than when Jesse touched her there. Finn's hand fumbled awkwardly, his brown eyes huge, his mouth hanging open.

It took Rachel one more heartbeat to gather her shocked self enough to move. She pulled a ragged breath into her lungs, and, as if that breath freed her, she shoved Finn's hand away and closed her legs, scrabbling for cover. A towel and a pillow wasn't much, but it would have to do because she was _not_ turning her back on him long enough to climb under the covers. "What the hell?" Another breath. "What...what the fuck do you think you were doing?" Yeah, Jesse's coarse mouth was definitely rubbing off on her.

Finn swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You...shave?" The words were a bare squeak.

"That's none of your business! What gives you the right to just waltz in here unannounced?" Rachel's heart hammered against her ribs. Ten seconds. He'd had his hands on her for about ten seconds—longer than it sounded like, but far shorter than it felt.

Finn's face darkened. "Uhh...maybe because I'm your _boyfriend_? What, so you think you're the only one in this relationship who gets to show up whenever you feel like it?"

Rachel scowled and clutched the damp towel tighter around her hips. If she wasn't so...naked...she'd be on her feet right now, about to slap him despite Jesse's edict against hitting.

"Don't you dare try to call this the same thing! I knocked on your window! You barged into my bedroom and _touched_ me!"

"You're my girlfriend!" Finn roared back. Apparently his voice was fully back now. "I'm supposed to be able to touch you! But no, you always want to do anything—literally anything—else. What the hell?"

Finn had a weird little almost-lisp thing; why had she never noticed it before? Whereas Jesse's crooked lower teeth made her love him all the more, Finn's ever-so-slight speech impediment only annoyed her.

"Being my boyfriend doesn't automatically give you the right to just barge in and touch me!" she yelled, her voice growing in both volume and pitch with each word.

"I'm so sick of this, you know?" he said, gesturing with one hand. "I'm so sick of doing all the work of being your boyfriend—and it's a _lot_ of work keeping you happy—without the good parts. I mean, yeah, you'll kiss me now but you don't even really like to make out. Every time I try to touch your boobs or your ass, you freak out."

Okay, part of that was true. She did freak out when Finn tried to cop a feel. But if she hadn't already been sure about breaking up with him, she was now. This was the absolute last straw. She seethed, furious with him and also with the fact that she couldn't get up and deck him like she wanted to. So he thought being her boyfriend was all work, huh? Not enough reward? Well, she could fix that very, very quickly.

"I'm glad," she said. "I'm glad you weren't the one to take my virginity."

"No," Finn scoffed, "that was _perfect_ Jesse St. James, who then cracked an egg on your head, beat our asses at Regionals, and ran off to California."

Through her fury, Rachel felt a small thread of amusement. In fact, Jesse _had_ been the one to take her virginity, though not when or how Finn thought. She held her tongue, seeing no reason to enlighten him.

"Don't you dare," she said again. "We're not talking about Jesse right now, we're talking about you. Jesse never said anything like what you just did, regardless of what else he might have done."

Finn shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously, as if unable to keep still. He rubbed his palms on the thighs of his jeans—a sure sign that they were sweaty. Rachel wrinkled her nose. Jesse never had sweaty palms. "Look, I came here to...to apologize to you. Because, I mean, for the...you know."

Rachel raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. "I know?" She wasn't going to let him off the hook that easy. He was gonna have to say it.

"For telling Mr. Schue that I thought..." He cleared his throat. "It's just...I care about you, Rachel. I thought maybe he'd be better to deal with this kind of stuff than me. I always fuck up and say the wrong thing."

Well, that much was certainly true.

"You should have come to me first," Rachel snapped, unwilling to let him off the hook. "Before you jumped to conclusions and made all of us look like idiots!"

"Why won't you admit it?" Finn demanded. "Seriously, Rachel, I know it sucks and everything, but enough already! No one thinks badly of you or anything, so why do you keep lying?"

Yeah, that was it. Rachel stood, towel wrapped tightly around her waist, and did her best to glare up into his eyes. "I am not a liar," she insisted. "When have I _ever_ lied to you?" _That he knew about,_ she amended silently. "Listen, I'm sick of this. I'm tired of the way you always complain about how I act and how I dress. I'm tired of feeling like I have to put out to get attention from you, or somehow change myself to make you happy. I'm tired of all of it, Finn."

He eyed her uncertainly. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I'm done. Go back to Quinn if you want to, or find a new girl to make feel bad about herself. I'm not going to play this game anymore. As much as you think you're getting nothing out of this relationship, neither am I."

Finn stared. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"How should I know that?" Rachel asked. "Our minds clearly work very, very differently. What I'm saying is that I'm officially not your girlfriend anymore. I'm sorry if you're upset, but I think this is best for both of us."

"You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do." Rachel drew herself up to her full height—admittedly not much compared to his, but it was better than nothing. "I don't love you. It took me longer than it should have to realize it, but I guess the important thing is that I do now. You were like the ultimate unattainable goal. I've only just realized that love shouldn't be like that. Falling into it, I mean. It should be...as easy as breathing." She'd never had to fight for Jesse, Rachel realized. He'd been hers from the moment their eyes met over a music book. The only ones they'd ever been fighting were themselves.

Well, and Shelby.

"Who is this guy?" Finn demanded suddenly. "I don't trust him, Rachel. You've been acting weird ever since the auction. Whatever's gotten into you, it's his fault. If he didn't rape you, what's the deal?"

"You're not my boyfriend anymore, so it's none of your business." Rachel supposed that people would find out Jesse was back in town at some point, but she hoped to have at least a little time with him before that happened. Finn would immediately accuse her of cheating—which she didn't deny—and the others would accuse her of just plain stupidity, falling for him a second time. What they didn't understand was, there _was_ no second time. She'd fallen, and that was the end of it.

She could still feel Finn's rough, fumbling touch though, even as she argued with him. It wasn't pleasant. Her skin shuddered, and suddenly that bath she'd decided against seemed like a much better idea. This was...strange. Very strange. Her stomach clenched and rolled, uncomfortable feelings sweeping through her body. She hadn't felt this way when she cheated on Finn with Jesse. Why, then, did it feel so awful that Finn had touched her, even for a moment? A pulse shivered through her body.

Jesse.

What the hell was she going to tell Jesse?

"You need to leave," she said, willing her voice to remain firm. "Now."

"Rachel—"

"No. I'm telling you this for the last time. I wasn't attacked. The only one who hurt me was _you_ when you ignored me, and I'm not going to do this anymore. I'd like to still be friends if we can, but I'll never be able to be this person you seem to want me to be, and I'm losing myself by trying. I can't anymore. Don't show up here without calling first, and don't touch me." She made her way to the door with all the dignity she could muster while wearing a bra and a wet towel.

Finn followed reluctantly behind her, squinting a little as if he was still trying to understand what she'd just said. "I'll go. But this isn't like you, Rachel. You're acting all weird and stuff. I'm going to give you a few days to think it over, and then we can...talk again." His distaste for the word was palpable.

Rachel gave up. Anything to get him to leave at this point. She could talk to Jesse and figure out what to do later. Right now, she just wanted Finn out of her house.

She watched from her window as he got into his mom's car and drove away.

Then she burst into tears.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Good cliffie, right? What's Jesse gonna do? What's Rachel gonna tell him? How are they gonna make Finn get it? If you wanna know, leave me some love! Mwah!_


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